


Things Gone Unchecked

by weaksauce



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M, dirkjake - Freeform, homestuck 2018, long fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaksauce/pseuds/weaksauce
Summary: The shittiest dive bar in the best part of town. Totally your style.One, two steps up some rickety well-worn wooden stairs, and you’re standing on stage, shades reflecting the obnoxious multicolored lights. You walk all of three steps to get to the center of the tiny stage. Three short bursts of sound echo throughout the mostly-empty bar as you check the mic, and you give the DJ to your right a short nod to let him know you’re ready.Your attention finally turns to the crowd as the beat drops, faces painted hues of pink, purple, and green by the shitty strobing lights. There are a few regulars lapping up drinks, and a few faces you don’t know—a couple of girls stick out because they’re about 20 years younger than anyone else in the bar—roughly your age.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No game. Just kids living in the city. Also, there will be other chapters. For reference, kids are 22/23, and Dave is 10.

The shittiest dive bar in the best part of town. Totally your style.

One, two steps up some rickety well-worn wooden stairs, and you’re standing on stage, shades reflecting the obnoxious multicolored lights. You walk all of three steps to get to the center of the tiny stage. Three short bursts of sound echo throughout the mostly-empty bar as you check the mic, and you give the DJ to your right a short nod to let him know you’re ready. 

Your attention finally turns to the crowd as the beat drops, faces painted hues of pink, purple, and green by the shitty strobing lights. There are a few regulars lapping up drinks, and a few faces you don’t know—a couple of girls stick out because they’re about 20 years younger than anyone else in the bar—roughly your age.

You start rapping, lyrics coming out naturally. You go with the flow, rhymes that you didn’t even know you had passing smoothly over your lips as you finish the first part of your set. You put the mic back on its stand to get ready for your break, and one of the two girls you noticed earlier is cheering—loud. Like, cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling. You actually can’t say that this is a reaction you’ve ever gotten from an audience; being weirdly understated and underrated on purpose was kind of a part of your schtick. You give an ironic bow and go off stage to get some water; spitting sick beats has made you parched as hell.

When you walk to the side of the stage, the yelling girl is waiting for you, now sans yelling. She has short blond hair, a grin up to her ears, and her arm around her friend, who looks a little embarrassed. “Hey,” you say, starting the conversation.

The girl's grin widens, if that’s even possible. “Hey!! It’s Dirk Strider, the big Dirk Man, the _hells_ a cool guy! What you did out there was so awesome!” She’s putting a lot of weight on her friend, and you realize from the smell of her breath and her slurred words that she’s hammered. You contemplate whether the only person who ever cheered for your raps being hammered is an insult or a compliment, and decide it’s cool because it’s kind of funny in a self-deprecating sort of way. 

Her dark-haired friend looks at you apologetically. “Roxy, we should probably get going, don’t you think? He probably wants to rest before he goes on stage again or something…”

Roxy groans at the dark-haired girl. “Ja-a-a-ane you’re such a buzzkill sometimes!” She turns to her friend, covering her mouth with one hand in an attempt to conceal her very obvious whispering. “We’re what they call hot chicks… But you already have a boyfriend, so be my wingman just this once! I mean, wingwoman… whatever.” She gives Jane a wink and grins, turning her attention back to you. Jane puts a hand to her forehead, probably rolling her eyes behind it.

You take a sip of your water, amused by the whole situation. This was no doubt more amusing than a normal night when you just had a quiet, overly self-critical break and went back on stage, anyway. You decide to play along with whatever might happen next for the next… 15 minutes left. You realize that you’re smiling at them.

“Are you smiling at me, Mr. Strider? Sw-fuckin’-oooooooon,” says Roxy, giggling. “How did you get interested in—“ hiccup “—rapping?” She waits for your answer, putting one hand on her chin in a flirty gesture that has zero effect on you.

“I actually came out of the womb spitting hells a rhymes. I do ventriloquism too,” you state straightfaced, and the blonde cracks up. For some reason, you want to listen to her laugh all night.

“Is this guy a comedone, shit, comedian and a rapper?” she slurs, looking from you to Jane and laughing again. 

The brunette gives a weak smile and extends her hand for you to shake. “I’m Jane,” she says. “And this is my friend Roxy.”

You shake her hand, enjoying the businesslike juxtaposition of the gesture in opposition to her friend’s behavior. “Dirk,” you say, even though they obviously already know your name because they heard it when it was announced and Roxy had said it several times already.

“Dirk,” Roxy says. “is such a cool name. Anyways! My friend Jane here is dating a guy who’s suppose-ta come here tonight, but he’s late. I’m single though.” She gives you a wink at this and turns back to Jane, doing her loud whisper bit again. “Jane, you said you’d be my wingwoman, but I’m sorry… You’re just shaking hands and stuff, so I decided to be my own wingwoman! Boom!”

Ah, shit. She’s laying on this liking you stuff thick. Should you tell her that you’re—

“Time’s up, Dirk! Get back on stage!” shouts the manager of the bar.

When you’re back under the colored lights of the stage, you see the girls take their place at their table again, Roxy giving you a big thumbs up as you start your next song.

Somewhere in the middle of a line about Ponies vs. Aliens The Movie 2: The Sequel, you see the front door swing open as someone new walks into the bar. Someone you’ve never seen before. Someone fucking beautiful. Shit. You mean… Yeah. Beautiful was right. Dappled in shimmering strobe lights, the guy who walked in is lovely. Black hair, nerdy as hell glasses, rounded cheeks, an upturned nose. Your eyes wander down to the… Short shorts. Fuck. Time seems to move in slow motion as you—no, shit, time moving in slow motion is a fucking overused cliche. The lights seem to shine only on him—wait, why are your thoughts only coming out in uninspired cliches? Anyway, you watch him as he walks over to take a seat…

Next to Jane, the girl from earlier. And she gives him a peck on the cheek. Her boyfriend. Of course he would be that guy. You collectedly keep control over your untamed and unbridled sick rhymes as you watch the scene unfold before you, externally fine. Internally, you take a couple seconds to get over it. Really, it was only a couple seconds. Probably 1.5 seconds even.

He’s watching you, and the lights feel a little hot. You’re not sweating. No way. Okay, you are sweating. Maybe this is taking more like 1.5 minutes. However, you eventually recover internally like the pro you are and continue to the end of your set, ending with an awesome nuanced pop culture reference. When the stage lights go out, you head off the stage (the shitty place has no backstage, but more of a side stage table for performers) and take a second to drink some water and compose yourself.

You know yourself. You know yourself better than anyone else knows you and better than you could ever know anyone else, but you’d never had this reaction to seeing a person before. It’s kind of freaking you out. There’s just a pretty boy in the crowd, and that pretty boy has a girlfriend, so why did he make you so fucking nervous? You briefly retreat into yourself, checking yourself, rationalizing with yourself about the situation, and deciding that there is absolutely no reason to be having this kind of reaction. You successfully calm yourself down.

Until the guy comes over to talk to you, and your heart feels wobbly again. He’s with the two girls. Jane is holding his hand, and Roxy still has her arm around Jane’s shoulders to stabilize herself.

“Hey,” you say coolly to none of them in particular. Saying things coolly is one of your specialties. The shades help.

Two ‘hey’s and a ‘hello,’ greet your ears, followed by the guy’s voice. “How on Earth did you manage to write those completely off the chain and radical lyrics?”

You purse your lips to stifle a laugh. This guy was either taking irony to the next level, or he read a book published in 1990 with the title Hip-Hop Terminology: A Beginner’s Handbook before coming. “My lyrics just kind of come to me when I ride my stallion, Lucy, through the backyard of my estate, bro,” you say, hoping to match his level of irony or nerdity.

“Well isn’t that just fascinating!” he says, smiling at you. Your heart stops for a second or two.

Jane smacks a hand to her forehead for the second time that night, politely letting her beautiful gullible dope of a boyfriend know that you were joking. He rejects that at first, citing your stoic and unsmiling face as evidence that you were not, in fact, joking. And their side conversation continues in hushed tones as Roxy directs her attention back to you. Or rather, as you direct your attention back to her. You think that her attention had probably been on you the whole time.

“Big D,” she says, smiling at you. “Do you play here every night?” She tries to flip her hair cutely, but she fails and just combs it back with her hand that’s not wrapped around Jane’s shoulders.

“Big D sounds more like an insult than a nickname,” you say. “And not every night, but pretty damn close. Either here or other similar places around town.”

“An insult or a _complenment_!!!! Fuck. Compliment! Hehehe. Anywhatsit, why do you play in dives like this? You’re really actually talented, y’know?” She looks earnest.

“I like the small crowds. It’s less recognition, but it’s really only to pay the bills; the rapping part is kind of just for me,” you reply, so earnestly that it seems like you might be lying, but you’re actually being completely honest. This is one of the best ways to pull off earnesty while still maintaining mad levels of irony.

She flashes you another smile, long eyelashes batting. “Well, I guess it’s not just for you now. It’s gonna be for me, too, for all three of us. I mean, y’know, if you’re okay with us comin’ out and watchin’ you.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t mind,” you say, giving her a hint of a smile in return. Maybe it would be nice to have people actually listening to your music. Maybe.

Before you know it, her hand is in your front pants pocket as she, in a way you think that she thinks is sneaky, pushes a little piece of paper inside. “Shhhh,” she says, and one eye blinks weirdly a few times. You guess she’s winking at you again. 

The other two have finally ended their argument about your horse named Lucy (verdict: agree to disagree), and they reenter the conversation just in time for it to end. “Let’s go, guys,” says Roxy.

The other two nod, and they start walking toward the front door like an awful and uncoordinated 6-legged beast. The guy—you still hadn’t caught his name—looks over his shoulder at you and gives you a wave. Jane is too focused on keeping Roxy balanced to notice or remember to say goodbye, and Roxy blows you a kiss and makes the international sign for ‘call me,’ by pressing her thumb and pinky against the side of her face. “Bye-bye!!!!” she shouts as she’s guided out of the bar.

You fish the little paper out of your pocket and are a little surprised when the handwriting on the paper is neat, until you realize that it was probably written by her friend. Not so much of a shit wingwoman after all, you think. Even though it was really a null game from the get go.

You dial the number into your phone, saving the contact as “Roxy.” You might give her a text later, but now is not the time. You glance at the clock, noticing how late it had gotten. Damn. You have to go, like thirty minutes ago.

You grab your envelope of cash from the manager of the bar and your skateboard from an obscure corner on your way out the door. As you ride your board back to your house, you decide to dissect every little piece of your infatuation with the nerdy guy, and you come to the conclusion that the reason for it might be that he reminds you of your puppets. Not literally because there’s no way he could ever reach that level of simultaneous cuteness and eroticism, but because both he and the puppets could probably never reciprocate.

Your feelings without your knowledge or logic choosing someone who could probably never feel the same way about you is actually pretty cool. Not only could he be admired from afar and be about 80% less likely to get tangled up in your cerebral messy bullshit, but your subconscious urges choosing someone like this is just the most hilarious fuckin’ thing ever because it’s probably who you would have chosen anyway. It's also thematically a perfect foil for the way that the blonde girl, Roxy, probably feels about you.

You continue to think about this and the others you met, exhausting all possible ways that your meeting, the group of them, and how you fit into the equation rated on a scale of absurdity you’ve constructed in your mind to rate things like this. Reaching the conclusion that you don’t actually care about any of that shit and it was a waste of time thinking about it, you get to the front double doors of your building, picking up your board and riding the elevator up to the top floor of the nicest apartment in the shittiest part of town. You guess it holds a little irony, but it was actually just the best place you could afford.

You swing open the front door of the apartment soundlessly, slipping off your shoes in true Japanese style and also to keep the carpet clean because you respect the hell out of your clean carpet, walking across the living room and opening the door to your little bro’s room. His sleeping body is lying in the bed and turned away from you, soft snores escaping him. You walk over to his bed, sitting at the edge of it and—

 _Schwing!_ You pluck a sword that comes hurtling at your head out of the air, looking down at the dummy in his bed and the tape recorder playing the sound of soft snores next to it with appreciation. “Nice one, my man,” you say, watching him come out from behind his door, a flustered expression on his face.

You fling the sword back to him, and he catches it with one hand, shadeless face showing his glare. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, throwing the sword down on the ground. He walks to the bed and shoves the dummy brusquely to the ground. He hops into bed, facing away from you and pulling the covers up around his face.

You give him his nightly goodnight kiss to the back of his head and ruffle his soft golden hair, your shadow engulfing him. He’s probably too old for goodnight kisses now, but it’s just kind of a thing you do every night to show you care, though you don’t think he accepts the gesture. Speaking of people who can’t reciprocate your feelings… Ha… Shit, that one actually cuts a little.

You get off the bed, picking up the sword your little bro threw on the ground and placing it neatly in its holder on the table next to his bed before exiting his room and heading to your own.

The familiar creaking of your door comforts you a little as you close it behind you and flop down onto your bed, your head landing softly on your best bro’s lap. “Hey, Lil Cal. Don’t remember you being here, you rascal,” you say fondly, looking up at his face. With a sigh, you close your eyes and resign yourself to a night thinking about the thing you thought about most, well second-most, your little bro. Not Cal, Dave. Guilt for raising him in a way to make him hate you, shame that you care about him hating you when making him strong so he can protect himself should be your first priority, and a multitude of other fragmenting directions that your thoughts branch off into on this topic. 

You guess that you don’t dream in the way that other people describe dreaming. You really just think all through the night like your own insane 8 hour prison of you surrounding you on all sides. It doesn’t really matter if you’re sleeping or awake, so you just close your eyes and let your thoughts overwhelm your consciousness as you settle in to your own private self-centered hell.

————

You’re roughly shaken awake by little hands on your shoulder. Your eyes open instantly, taking in the sight of your little brother with a panicked expression on his face. “Bro, BRO,” he says urgently.

“Yeah, what’s up my man?” you groan, sitting up. He had never come into your room and woken you up like this, so you cautiously believe that he’s really gotten himself in some kind of trouble.

“So… I was practicing sparring on the roof, when suddenly some people in suits came up there and said that they were from CPS. Whatever the hell that is, but they said that they had to take me somewhere, so I ran down here. They’re at the front door now.”

What the hell kind of story is this… You blink hard and roll out of bed, kind of straightening your shirt and going to the door sans shades. You’re suspicious of his urgency, but you guess that you really have no choice but to check the door. You comb through your hair with your fingers once and jerk open the front door of your apartment, seeing a little note on the ground that reads:

**B)**

Sighing, you pick up the note and crumble it between your hands. Was this some kind of shitty prank? Striders don’t do shitty meaningless pranks.

You walk back to your room, scowling, and then you see it. Dave is standing in your room, holding the last bottle of apple juice in one hand and sword in the other. A small smile starts to spread across your face. So it wasn’t just a meaningless prank after all. He’d found the apple juice, and you actually hadn’t expected that.

“How did you know what CPS was?” you ask, proud of your little bro.

“A friend told me that they should probably come here,” he says confidently, looking ready to fight you for the apple juice.

You come closer to him, and he braces himself. You grab your shades from the bedside table and put them on, purposely not grabbing your katana and start walking out of the room. You point up, and he knows what’s to come, dutifully following you to the roof for a strife of epic proportions with the sweet golden liquid as a prize.

You sit down on the roof cross-legged and gesture for Dave to come at you, one palm facing the sky and four fingers beckoning. Your little bro circles you a few times before coming at you swinging. His attack is swift and silent, but not swift or silent enough. You grab his sword’s blade mid-swing, your thick gloves absorbing the blade’s potential sting. He doesn’t say a word, just circling you trying to strike again, quicker this time. You almost miss his sword, and instead grab the hilt, twisting so that it falls out of his hands and into your control. You point it at him for a moment before dropping it on the ground at his feet.

“You’re too predictable,” you say. “You always try to strike when you’re behind me to surprise me, but attacking head on would be more—“

Dave’s sword swings by your head, and you can feel it whiz by, almost touching your hair. He had picked it up quickly, choosing to attack when you were talking and from the front of you, when you would be least expecting it. Damn, he learns fast. You lash out one foot from under you to kick the sword out of his hand quickly before standing up and ruffling his hair. He looks pissed at you, as usual. You take the apple juice back to hide somewhere else in your room for next time.

“Good,” you say, turning your back on him and walking back down to your apartment. It always feels good when you can see him making progress. If it weren’t you he were sparring with, if it were someone a little less experience, he would definitely be able to hold his own at this point, and that makes you so goddamn proud of him. As a guardian, teaching your little bro how to defend himself is definitely the number one goal, and probably your number one purpose on this Earth right now. Not doing that would be failing him, even if he does hate you for it. Not wanting to sink into the hole of thinking about Dave that you had the previous night, you turn your massive asshole brain to the events of the evening—namely, which bar you’ll be rapping at tonight.

Deftly, you rip open a puppet that you had lovingly crafted and stuff the bottle of apple juice inside. You’re booked for the same bar as the previous night, and you idly wonder if those three from last night will show up again. Probably not, two nights in a row is a little much for normal people, even if yesterday was Friday and today was Saturday. You sew the puppet back up, giving it a pat on the cheek and setting it on your bed. A perfect hiding spot. You guess you’ll find out tonight if they’ll show up… If not, maybe you should give that Roxy girl a call. She actually seems like she would be pretty cool to have as a friend, or even just someone you talk to for a while who eventually gets tired of your shit. You reposition the puppet until you’re satisfied with it.

Before you know it, the blinding daylight that filtered into your room is now going dim, and it’s almost time for your curtain call. You consider what you’ll wear for a ridiculous amount of time before choosing something similar to what you usually wear, tossing a black jacket on top of your usually white shirt because it’s the time of year where the air is a little crisp at night. You think about putting on a hat, but nah. Your golden Strider locks want to be free tonight. Why the hell are you spending so much time on your outfit today anyway, you ask yourself, and you know the answer to that one full well.

You head out, grabbing your skateboard and waving bye to your little bro over your shoulder. If he were watching, then it would be cool, but it he weren’t, he wouldn’t know that you had even waved, so it’s really a win-win.

After about 20 minutes of shredding up the asphalt, pontificating to yourself, and rebuffing yourself for pontificating to yourself, you end up at the bar you had played last night. The familiar scent of cigarette butts and yesterday’s vomit greet your nostrils as the strangely simultaneously sticky and slippery floor assaults the soles of your shoes. You glance around and see Roxy and the guy from yesterday waving delightedly at you. Hell, where was his girlfriend, Jane? This was like the plot of a shitty coming-of-age B movie in which one male character realizes he has feelings for another male character in the absence of his girlfriend. Did you say B movie, you meant a porno you’d seen once. Not that this encounter was going to be at all like a porno, and not that you wanted it to be.

You walk over to them, as always actions more confident than your internal turmoil of over-congested thoughts.

“D-Man!!!” says Roxy, giving you a big grin and a double thumbs up. “Good luck up there tonight! Or am I suppose ta say break a leg?”

“Yes, certainly good luck or break a leg up there, chum! Whichever expression brings all of the ‘tightest’ raps to you!” The guy does the gun thing with both of his hands. Fuck. Why were his words and his voice and his silly little actions so endearing. The rational side of you reminds you that you don’t even know the guy’s name.

You give a thumbs up to Roxy with one hand and a hand-gun to the guy with your other. “Actually, break a neck is the correct term for someone who’s about to rap,” you say, walking up the small rickety stairs to the stage.

The guy looks at you like he’s taking notes about the new rap lingo, and Roxy just laughs lightheartedly as you take your spot on stage, check the mic, and perform different songs than you had the day before. You actually have so many songs that it’s hard for the DJ to keep track of them, so you just usually perform the same ones on a rotating basis. The show flies by, and you’re finished for the night before you know it. Tonight, you’re just an opener, so there’s one more act after you.

There’s wild clapping and wooping as you leave the stage, and some other bar patrons lazily look around to see what all the raucous is about. You walk over to Roxy and the Double Guns Guy’s table, taking a seat next to Roxy and across from the guy. They’re both grinning at you over their drinks.

The guy is the one to talk first. “Well, wasn’t that just completely smashing!” he says, raising his glass in a mock toast with Roxy. They both take a drink together.

“Is it your breaktime now?” asks Roxy, putting an arm around the back of your chair for support.

“Nah, I’m done for tonight. There’s going to be another performance now,” you tell her. “Where’s the other girl, Jane?”

Roxy looks a little sulky and strangely jealous for a second before answering. “Janey’s being a toooootal bore and studying for some exam or something tonight. She totally ditched poor Jake over here, so he’s left with the two of us!”

Jake. His name is Jake. Jake and Jane? You can’t be serious; their names fit together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that when put together creates a picture of a lovely mild-mannered couple with a two-story house in the suburbs, 2.5 kids, and a friendly dog.

“No, no, it’s quite alright! I would love to spend time with the two of you,” he says sincerely, smiling at both of you.

“Oh yeah, we’re a right old riot of a threesome,” you say. Roxy laughs hysterically, grabbing onto your shoulder so that she doesn’t fall out of her chair, and Jake blushes lightly, looking a little flustered, but quickly regaining his composure and matching your statement.

“I suppose you’re quite right! However shall we consummate our newfound relationship of three on this fine evening, Mr. Strider? Ms. Lalonde?” says Jake, and Roxy laughs even harder before finally regaining her balance in her chair as her guffaws diminish into giggles.

Due to the strange force of the slippery substance on the soles of your shoes, one slips out from its comfortable spot perched on the footrest bar under the chair and shoots out. Straight onto Jake’s foot, or to what you logically assume to be Jake’s foot because he’s the only one sitting across from you. Before you can move it away, he moves his foot under yours. 

He doesn’t move his foot away or free it from being under yours, but just kind of jiggles it as if to let you know that he feels your foot. You’re probably overthinking it. He’s probably just too polite to want to move his foot away. You think that until you feel a hand on your knee under the table. What. Your eyes widen a little, and you’re glad that you’re wearing shades. You move your foot back to under your chair but make no attempt to swat the hand off of your knee. You probably should. But you don’t.

Roxy is saying something almost incomprehensible because of her words slurring combined with the fact that she is currently drinking and also laughing at the same time. “And we can…sdlkjclkdsf…..” hiccup “Also, we needa get the mamtramorial bands—shit—weddin’ rings!!! Jeweler, make three of ‘em!” You don’t dare venture a glance under the table, but you can see both of Roxy’s hands. One is on her drink, and one is around your shoulders. That only leaves Jake. His hand is warm.

The three of you go on with your conversation normally, you and Jake ignoring the elephant in the room. Well, it’s more like a secret elephant because only the two of you know about it, so you guess ‘the hand under the table on your fucking knee even though Jake has a girlfriend,’ would be a more apt description of it. Even if it wasn’t a shitty metaphor.

Eventually, the conversation steers to more personal topics, and you’re a little surprised with how open they are with you even though you’ve only known each other for a couple days. The hand moves off, and your adventurous hand touches Jake’s knee. You don’t remember that he’s wearing shorts in time, and you feel your hand against his bare skin. This feels way too intimate. You pull back after a few seconds.

“So, Dirk, what d’ya do when you’re not here? Jane is doing her master’s degree or whatever, so it’s hard to see her sometimes when she’s so busy,” Roxy addresses you, maybe using your actual name and not some wacky nickname for the first time since you met her.

“Well, usually I stay at home. I try to make new beats, make puppets, practice sparring wi—“

“Wait, wait, make puppets? What ever the dickens do you mean?”

“I make puppets out of fabric and stuffing. I sew them together and shit,” you say, looking evenly at Jake and trying to temporarily not think about his hand that had been on your knee or your hand that had been on his knee and failing spectacularly. You’re lucky you can think about supremely embarrassing things and talk normally at the same time.

Jake looks at you suspiciously. “Jane and Roxy have let me know that you’re the type to make lots of jokes without showing even a hint of humor on your face. Is this, perhaps, a joke?”

“Nah, this is completely real, bro. I really make puppets, and I’m kind of hurt that you think one of my most enjoyable hobbies is a lame joke.”

He looks uncomfortable and a little guilty. “Oh, I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, my friend.”

“Nah, the part about me being upset, that was the joke,” you say.

“Oh, oh,” his expression lights up. “Well that’s just downright fucking splendid, isn’t it! Look at that, I think I’m starting to grasp your sense of humor,” He laughs, and Roxy joins in as usual.

You know that he is probably not starting to grasp your sense of humor, but you can’t help but smile a little with them. It wasn’t even a good joke, so you’re not completely sure why they’re laughing, but you’re chalking it up to mob mentality, or just the social politics of slightly awkward second encounters.

Roxy asks Jake the same question she asked you. “Mr. Engish? English? What do you do when you have free time these days? I bet you spend it with my girlie Jane and that’s the real reason she’s so busy all the time, am I right??”

Jake chuckles at that. “No, no, Jane is often far too busy to see me as well. I guess my hobbies are practicing shooting and going to new places, but most accurately I tend to the pumpkins.” He turns his eyes to you for the last part, as Roxy already knows his hobbies.

“Pumpkins?” you ask, engaging him. You briefly imagine his finger guns from earlier and exchange them for real guns. Oddly sexy.

“Yes, my grandma left me her pumpkin patch after she passed, so I live around there and sometimes pay visits to canoodle the pumpkins and make a small profit off of them.”

“I don’t think canoodle means what you think it means,” you tell him.

“That, Mr. Strider, was a _joke_ ,” he says smoothly, shooting you with his fake guns and winking. Fuckfuckfuck.

You pretend to die, putting your face down on the table.

“Excuse me, gennle-misters, I needa use the ladies’ room, berb!” says Roxy, and you raise your head to watch her as she saunters to the bathroom, making sure she doesn’t fall on the way. You feel like you should have helped her walk there. You decide to help her when she comes out, watching the doorway out of your peripheral vision.

So, you’re alone with Jake.

…

You look at each other for a little while. He looks completely comfortable, and you’re sure that you look like… you. “So, Dirk,” he starts.

“Yeah,” you say, looking at him.

“How many members do you have in your family?”

You almost want to laugh at this question. This guy had literally just been fondling your knee under the table in his girlfriend’s absence, and the first thing he has to ask about the first time you’re alone together is your family?

“I guess two,” you say. “My parents are dead, though.”

He looks a little stunned by your honesty, but he then looks at you more fondly than he had before. “Me, too…” he admits.

From fake guns and winking to the death of all of your respective parents? This conversation had taken a more serious turn than you originally anticipated. “Are you close with your grandma?” you ask, thinking about what he said earlier about her leaving him the pumpkin patch. That could have been part of his bullshit "joke,” but you doubt that it was.

“Yes,” he says, looking away from your face and down at the table. “She was the one who raised me after my parents passed… Who raised you?”

“I raised myself.”

“What? I mean, when you were a young lad, who was there to make food for you and wash your clothes and take you to school?”

“I did all that, well, from my twelfth birthday on,” you say like it’s not a big deal. From your studies of pop culture, you know that parents are a regular figure in most people’s lives who are somewhat annoying during adolescence and tend to fade out of their lives by the time they become adults, but your experience with parents had been cut short after you turned twelve. You try the best that you can to give some weird ironic cousin three times removed version of that to Dave… It might not be the most conventional upbringing, but at least he is learning how to defend himself and the people he loves, when he learns what love is. Maybe he already has without you; you’re sure that you’re not part of the ‘love’ equation for your little brother, or for anyone really. It’s really better that way.

Jake looks like he’s just stumbled into some deep shit, and he keeps his mouth shut for a little bit. “…Shit,” is all he says, still looking down at the table. You eye his drink for the first time, noticing that he’s been drinking milk instead of alcohol. No wonder he was acting so rational even though he was cheers-ing and keeping up with Roxy in all other respects.

“Do you not like alcohol?” you ask, drawing him away from the topic of your parents and domestic life because it appears to be making him uncomfortable.

He gives you a little grin. “You noticed that I’m drinking milk? Yeah, Roxy knows that I don’t like drinking much, but she never pressures me to drink. She’s an utterly fantastic lass, if you think about it. She just asks that I get water or milk so that we can toast to things throughout our conversations, and I comply because… She’s really got that moxie and persuasive girlish charm about her!”

“I know what you mean,” you say, thinking about how spunky she is. You didn’t meet Roxy that long ago, but you feel that you can already consider her a friend. Even though she might have some feelings for you that you could never quite requite, she seems like a ‘fantastic lass’ that you definitely want to continue talking to. You want to protect her, even though you’re pretty sure that she would do a better job of protecting herself. “How long have you known her and Jane?” you add.

“It’s been quite a while now. I suppose it’s not the most serendipitous or interesting place to meet, but we met at school. We had a gosh darn good time in those days, but I’m happy that we all managed to stay friends even though we’ve all changed a fair bit since our school days!” He smiles sincerely, obviously completely believing everything he says and relating to all of his own sentiments on a personal and emotional level. You can’t relate. You guess that he feels this way about other people’s thoughts as well, which is what makes him so gullible.

You notice Roxy coming out of the bathroom from the corner of your eye and abandon your conversation with Jake to go help her back to your table, as you had promised yourself that you you would do when you saw her emerge. You walk over, promptly placing her arm over your shoulder, supporting the brunt of her weight—which is almost nonexistent to you—and guiding her back to her seat at your table.

She smiles at you, giving you a drunken curtsey as repayment. “Well, well, well, you really are a gentleman!!” she says as she takes her seat again.

Jake flashes you a grin as well. “You really are quite the gentleman, Mr. Strider. It should have been me to escort the fine lady back to her table!”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” you say simply, tipping your shades at Roxy, to which she puts her right arm over her forehead and leans back in her chair in a gesture reminiscent of what you believe to be the swoon of some damsel in distress from a lame TV show. You vaguely hope that you’re not leading her on in her delusions of you and her ending up together in some alternate reality dreamland, and you really think of clearing it up as soon as possible.

After a few more cocktails and mocktails, it’s time for the gang to split up. Jake apparently has some serious pumpkin business to attend to, and Roxy needs to get home soon as well, for her little sister’s sake. You think of Dave and suppose that you need to get home, too. You really want to try to be at home on time for dinner for once, even though that probably won’t happen. At least you left him some Mac ’N Cheese. It’s underneath several layers of ironic messages, an empty box of Mac ’N Cheese containing your mixtape, a couple puppets, and photo-realistic portrait you drew of Mr. T, but you’re sure he’ll find it if he’s hungry. He knows where to look.

You give Jake a look, and then Roxy. Jake is completely oblivious to your looks. He is the Fort Knox of impenetrability when it comes to your looks. Roxy giggles. “You can stop tryin’ ta send Jakey here messages with your eyes, I think he’s not receivin’ ‘em!! Anyway, if you’re wonderin’ who’s going to take the ‘sponsbility of walking this fair lady home, it’s really okay. I can go by myself!”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly because there is absolutely no way that you’re letting this ‘fair lady’ walk home by herself. Not because she’s a lady, but because she can walk a total of about 10 steps before falling flat on her ass. With Jake’s pumpkin patch business, you guess that he’ll offer to be polite, but it’s you who will end up walking Roxy home. No dinner with your little bro today. As usual.

And, Jake English, right on cue. “Oh my, Roxy! Do you think that I would ever let a lovely lass such as yourself walk herself home?”

“Let’s go,” you say, grabbing her arm and putting it around your shoulders.

“Oh, well… Are you sure that you can spare the time? If not, the damned pumpkins can wait. I mean, they’re just—“

“Leave the lovely lass walking to me,” you say, to which Jake gives you a relieved little smile.

“Hehehe have fun candoo.. canadoo…fuck… fucking your pumpkins, Jake!!!” says Roxy brightly as she clings to your shoulder, squeezing and leaning into you to keep her balance. She wildly waves goodbye to her friend.

Jake briefly leans in close to your ear on the side opposite Roxy and whispers a quick, “Thanks,” before hightailing it off to god knows where his urban pumpkin patch might be. You can still feel his breath against your ear. Shit. No, you can’t. That’s actually impossible. Does breath just fucking linger around until it wants to go somewhere else? That’s not even how aerodynamics work. Isaac Newton is shaking his head at you from the grave right now.

“Alright,” you say, feeling Roxy’s warm weight against you. “So where’s Casa de Lalonde?” You grab your skateboard and your cash envelope on the way out of the bar. You feel the brisk evening air on your face as you open the front door, bell tinkling to bid you farewell. You glance down at Roxy and are relieved to see that she’s wearing a jacket as well. You wrap your arm around her waist to better support her.

“Left,” she says, looking up at you. You turn left and walk for a few paces in silence before Roxy breaks it. “Dirk…”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gay?”

“Well, maybe it’s better not to use that exact term, but my orientation isn’t conventionally heterosexual, if that’s what you mean.” You guess you're glad that she brought it up before you had to.

She looks away, toward the ground. “Yeah, thought it was somethin’ like that… Go right here.”

You turn right down the next lamppost-less, oddly vacant street. You walk together in the dark, and she feels a little heavier against your side. Another moment of silence is broken, but this time by loud music blaring from the vicinity of Roxy’s boobs. She hurriedly reaches into a pocket inside her jacket and pulls out her phone, holding it to the side of her face. She grins. “Hey, Janey!!!!”

You briefly stop walking, as Roxy’s pace slows from turtle to snail as she talks on the phone, legs getting wobbly like jellyfish tentacles. You guess that you got some sick enjoyment from all of those animal puns. You also guess that she must have trouble multitasking while being this far gone.

“No, I’m not with Jake. I’m with Dirk, and he’s walking me home to Caso Dell Lalonde!”

High-pitched wiggly-sounding noises ring out from the speaker of the phone, muffled by the fact that it’s pressed against Roxy’s ear. “Mhm… Okeydoke. She wants to talk to you!” she says, shoving the phone at your face.

You put down your skateboard and take the phone in the hand that is not supporting Roxy. “Jane?” you say.

“Hey, yeah, it’s me. Are you walking Roxy home?” A high note at the end of her question indicates her apparent concern.

“Yes.”

“Where are you now?”

“On some dark ass street with no light posts. There’s a dumpster, some shady as fuck shadows. You know, a real great place.”

“Okay, good. Her house is on the next street, first left. Also, Dirk…”

“Yeah.”

“Roxy really trusts you, so I’m inclined to trust you as well… I mean, she sometimes makes bad decisions, but she’s generally quite intuitive and an excellent judge of character.” Probably not if she chose you as someone to rely on. “BUT if this was the one time she was wrong and you turn out to be some kind of psychopath or want to do ANYTHING harmful to her, just know that I’ll do that back to you, but ten times worse.” Her ending was a little weak, but you can tell that Jane is passionately protective of her friend.

“I could never hurt her,” you reply quickly. And you mean every word. No time for bullshit in a situation like this. You’ve only met Roxy twice, but she’s kind of a fucking rad chick. 

Roxy snatches the phone from your hand and presses it firmly between your shoulder and her ear, her other hand grabbing your skateboard as she nudges you to start walking forward again. “Ja-a-a-a-a-ne!! Are you making him swear to not hurt me or somthin’? I told you like a million times that Dirk’s good people, I can feel that, y’know…” 

Now that the phone is wedged between you and Roxy, you can pick out a few key words of Jane’s response like ‘careful’ and ‘stranger.’

“Yeah, yeah just being careful. What _ever_. I’m telling you he’s cool okay so just relax a little bit please. We’re almost at my house now!”

“inside…call…” is all you can make out.

“Okay, I’ll call you later, Jane, byeeeeee!!” she smiles, and you take your skateboard out of her hands to free them up for phone-related things. She hangs up and puts the phone back into her jacket pocket, looking back up at you. “Sorry if she was a lil overprotective.”

“No, it’s no problem,” you say. “But, why do you think that I’m ‘good people?’” You know that you are not, in fact, ‘good people.’ You turn left like Jane had told you to, and Roxy doesn’t question how you know which street her house is on.

“That’s because you are, obvsi! You’re really a gennleman, Dirk. Maybe even more than Jake! Yer not silly like him all the time, but I can tell that you got a good heart inside. Oh! That one,” she says, pointing, and you assume that it’s her house.

The house in question is large and old. The looming house before you is drenched in moonlight and steeped in shadows. It looks Victorian in style, and in true Victorian fashion all of its railings, trimmings, and buttresses are painted in muted tones, the main color palette being lilac and a pale golden yellow. Though it’s old, it looks quite well-maintained and impressive. Turning off of that shady alley, this was not the type of house to be expected.

You walk up the steps and to the front door, Roxy’s weight getting heavier against you with every step as if she doesn’t want to go home. After a couple moments in front of the door, the porch light turns on, and Roxy separates herself from you, leaning against the door frame. “Gotta go I guess. Looks like mom’s actually awake. Anyway, thanks a lot, Di Stri!!!” she plants a wet kiss squarely on the underside of your jaw before darting into her house at speeds you wouldn’t have thought possible given her inebriated state. 

As you stroll back down her front steps, lighter but strangely emptier now, you think about your promise to Jane about not hurting Roxy. You really don’t want to, but your orientation isn’t changing, and at this point she’s going to hurt herself. Cut herself on one of your god damn sharp edges.

 _Click!_ The sound of the door unlatching echoes over the lawn, and you look up to the top of the stairs. From inside a rectangle of warm buttery yellow light, a shadow calls out to you, “Oh yeah!! I gave you my digits, right?? Don’t forget ta call this time!!” The door closes again, and colors revert to their cool gray-blue moonlit hues. You take out your phone, thumbs padding the clever and witty message, “Hey, it’s me,” before dropping your board to the ground and making your way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already written a lot more of this one. Will post periodically as I edit it. I've just been kind of living in this fic recently and not reading anything back, so it'll take a while to edit parts to make them consistent and w/e. Thanks for reading! (:


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple months pass without incident. _Wake up_ , sparring practice, send Dave to school, write raps, tinker with machinery, puppets, more puppets, book learnin’, fuck with computer, put food for dinner in a place where Dave can find it, go to the bar, perform, kiss goodnight, _sleep_. There are a few changes in this routine, but it basically goes like that. Roxy’s started texting you quite often now, and she gave you Jane and Jake’s numbers, too, not that you’ve used them yet. You’ve all been seeing each other sometimes at the bar, anyway. Well, Roxy comes out every night, and the other two show up when they’re not busy. Usually together. There’s weird flirting coming at you from Roxy, and departing from you towards Jake. Your emotions about it all are still kind of a shit show, but let’s not delve too far into that right now.

You guess that this is what having real friends is like. You’ve tried having friends before, but it never worked out well for anyone involved, so at some point, you’d stopped. It looks like these ones are not going to leave you alone, though. And you’re not really too keen on leaving them alone at this point either, so you guess that you’re all stuck with each other.

Tonight, everyone is here. As you finish your set, you go to take a seat with your friends, as has become your custom. Roxy cheers for you madly, as is her custom. Jake claps you on the back, and Jane just smiles.

“DirkDirkDirkDirk,” says Roxy, practically jumping up and down in her seat.

“Yeah?”

“Jane has something to say!” she says brightly, turning your attention to Jane.

Jane looks a little nervous. “Roxy, I said it’s not that big of a deal…”

“Yes it IS, Janey!! Tell us, tell us, tell us,” she tries to start a chant among you and Jake to no avail, mostly because Jake already seems to know whatever news Jane has, and you… Well, you refuse to give in to mob mentality.

“Alright,” she says, a smile spreading across her face. “I told you about the final for my really hard culinary arts class with the professor who has the weird nose and doesn’t like me, right? Well…. I passed with the highest technical score in the class!”

Roxy’s eyes fill with unbridled joy, and she does a little dance in her chair, swaying her arms back and forth. She seems much more excited about Jane’s success than even Jane, and that’s the great thing about Roxy; there probably couldn’t be a more supportive friend on the planet.

“Congrats,” you say, and Roxy and Jake hit the back of your head in unison. “Shit, what.”

“Come on, man, show a little enthusiasm for a change!” says Jake.

“At least say the whole word,” says Roxy, expectations for your enthusiasm significantly lower than Jake’s. The problem must be that your enthusiasm is really all in the eyes.

“Congratulations,” you say, giving Jane a little smile. “I mean it.” And you do. You hadn’t previously warmed enough to anyone except your lil bro to the point of feeling pride in their accomplishments, but your sentiment is genuine.

Roxy calls over a waiter. “Guys,” she says. “I know you aren’t usually the drinkin’ type, but today we needa let loose a little, am I right?? BTW if you still don’t wanna drink that’s totes fine, I’m not pressurin’ anyone, but just so you have the option. I’m gettin’ you all something that I think would suit you, any objections?”

Jane looks to Jake, who looks to you, and you look to Roxy wordlessly.  
Hearing no objections, Roxy starts to order some cocktails, muttering their names quietly to the waiter to, you suppose, make them a surprise when they arrive. Well, looks like you’re going to drink tonight. It’s not often that you drink, and that’s not that you’re opposed to it or to other people drinking, but just that its effect on you is rather… Bland. Others seem more relaxed, conversation flows more easily, but you feel that you just kind of retreat into yourself and your thoughts, almost like dreaming. In other words, torturous. Not that anyone else knows that.

After a while of conversing about Jane’s test and how good she is at cooking, the tuxedo-clad waiter arrives with your drinks. You wonder what the point of wearing a tuxedo in a dive like this is. Are they trying to class up the joint? If they are, you feel like you’ll probably take your rapping prowess elsewhere to a far shittier joint. You can’t stand for this level of good taste.

Observing the drinks on the table, Roxy got her usual, a martini, and ordered the same for Jane as a gesture of her best-friendship with the latter. Matching drinks is one of Roxy’s many unique ways of showing affection. You glance to Jake’s drink, which is set down before yours. It’s definitely a spectacle. For one, it’s on fire. You guess there doesn’t really have to be a two. Jake is staring at his own drink, mouth gaping. You don’t even notice when yours is set in front of you because everyone is a little preoccupied with Jake’s.

“Blow it out, make a wish!” says Roxy, laughing at Jake’s aghast expression. Jake blows out the fire on his drink, eyes closed like he is really making a wish in his head, and the attention turns to your drink. The pink monstrosity sitting in front of you seems to be challenging all of the other drinks at the table, its elaborate layered pink and purple colors, fruit display, and twisty straw clearly making it the belle of the ball.

“Do you like it?” asks Roxy from your side.

You stare down the drink for a moment longer, saying seriously, “I fucking love it.”

Roxy wipes her brow animatedly like there had been a big cartoon sweat drop there. “Whatta relief!! It kinda reminded me of those puppets you get on about, like I thought they would be these kindsa colors for some reason.”

You can hear Jake and Jane laughing at you from their side of the booth, obviously finding your drink hilarious. More important than the drink and how deliciously ironic it is, however, is the thought your friend put in to the fine minutia of this. Her sincerity and actual worry about whether or not you were going to like the drink were not-just-a-little adorable. Also worrying.

“Why did you choose this for me?” asks Jake. “Is it because… I’m badass?” He grins, feeling like this is definitely the answer.

“No,” answer Roxy, “It’s because you’re always talkin’ about adventures and whatnot, but you don’t ever go on any real adventurous romps, so I ordered ya a really ‘adventurous’ dru—drink!”

Jake looks slightly crestfallen. “Ah, I see,” he says. Jane just pats him on the back comfortingly and laughs at his side.

“And ours?” Jane asks Roxy.

“Ours?? Obvsi matching because we’re besties!!” she says, giving Jane a high five across the table. “And because you did really good on the test, and I want to reward you with the best drank. Anyway, let’s quit our yammerin’ an’ do a cheers already!” Roxy raises her glass, and the rest of you follow suit, clinking above the middle of the always-sticky wooden table and sipping.

You continue sipping your drink between snippets of dialogue and slowly feel yourself withdrawing in a ratio directly proportionate to the amount of alcohol consumed. Your thoughts are coming to the forefront, conversation receding into the background as you let the occasional curt, offhanded remark slide off your tongue. No one seems to really take much notice, and you think that that’s either because they’re getting drunk or because you were just never as present in this friendship as you thought you were. That leads down a slightly grim rabbit hole of thoughts mainly centered around self-loathing and your inability to maintain fruitful relationships. Lovely. 

You’re just in time to tune in for: 

“So, Dirk’s house then?”

Wait, no. You hadn’t agreed to this. Had you? Fuck. Having your words on autopilot really isn’t working out for you in this case.  
Everyone is smiling at you and grabbing their things. Roxy settles the tab, and you’re walking with them to the door. Without thinking, you take Roxy’s arm and swing it around your shoulder, putting your arm around her waist naturally. Shit. When had this happened? It was almost like you had been asleep and just watching someone else in your body while thinking your own thoughts, but now it had been decided to go to your apartment. No, no, no.

As you’re walking down the street toward your place with your friends, you slowly start gathering up your thoughts and forcing them down into the little glass box in your mind that they usually inhabit—observed but not taking over.

Before you know it, all of you are entering your apartment building. It’s a little surreal to see them here. You’re pretty much fully in control of both your thoughts and and words again, but it’s too late to turn back now. Your friends are in your apartment building, and they’re coming to your room. Rather domestically, a stray thought about whether or not it’s clean escapes its glass enclosure and crosses your mind, but that’s the least of your worries at this point.

The four of you crowd into the tiny elevator, and you press 15 for the highest floor. (“Oh, penthouse!” you hear Roxy say.) The little yellow light behind the 15 is mocking you for bringing friends over because you’ll probably certainly lose them after they see your place and—

_Ding!_

You’re the first out of the elevator, and you head for the door straight ahead. Roxy is still attached to you, but you sever ties for as you reach the door, pushing her behind you. Jane and Jake come out after you, stumbling a little because of the amount of liquor they had imbued, but definitely not as drunk as they had been earlier. This is probably the one time you’ve been a little grateful that it was a long and sobering walk to your apartment building.

You glance back at the others to make sure they’re behind you—just in case—before opening your door, and—

_Schwing!!!_

A sword comes hurtling at your head, and you catch it in between your two hands. You reaction is slightly slowed, but you still manage to catch it about four inches in front of the hilt before it could sail over your right shoulder. Thankfully you caught it, as Jane is located roughly in the place where the sword would have embedded itself in the wall to the side of the elevator door.

When you turn back to see your friends, they’re are staring at the sword in your hands wide-eyed. Their eyes then drift into your the inky blackness of your apartment to see the shadowy figure in the living room backlit by the dim city light from a window.

You turn to look into the apartment and fling the sword to your little bro who, of course, catches it with ease. You flip on the light, taking off your shoes casually as you enter the room. “Nice one, little man,” you say. “I really didn’t expect that today. Kinda scared the shit out of my friends here, though.”

Said friends are still standing shocked outside of the door, and Jane looks like she is considering getting back on the elevator. “Come in,” you say, and they hesitantly enter the apartment. “Take off your shoes, though,” you add.

“Bro, what the hell,” says Dave, frustration visible even behind his shades.

“Little bro, meet my friends. My friends, meet my little bro,” you say.

Your friends, all looking confused, talk over each other after they get over their shock at the situation. 

“So this is the one who threw a swo—?” 

“You have a brother that you didn’t tell—?”

“Hell’s bells, Dirk. I’m sorry to say it, but this is absolutely a messed up—.”

Roxy rushes forward to Dave, pinching a cheek like he’s a little kid. He hates that. “Why didn’t you tell us? He’s so cuuuuuute, though! He’s like a little you!” You can see Dave’s frustration with the situation growing exponentially.

You flop down on the sofa and rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, he is pretty adorable, huh.”

Jake throws his arms up in agitation. “That’s the comment you chose to respond to? Dirk, really I must be frank here and ask about this situation. I think that there are a variety of burning questions on all of our minds, but ‘why was your little brother assaulting us with swords?’ and ‘why did you not tell us you had a younger brother in the first place?’ seem to be the most relevant at this moment.”

Dave pulls away from Roxy and shuts the door to his room, obviously not wanting any part in this conversation or hanging out with your friends or you. Roxy looks disappointed, but stumbles over to take a seat next to you on the couch. She grabs a puppet from the couch and sets it on her lap, mumbling something about how pleased she was that the color she picked was right. Jane and Jake remain standing even though there are two chairs near the sofa. They don’t look comfortable enough to sit down.

“Okay. First, Jake, I told you specifically about the existence of my little bro, but you didn’t ask further about it. Second, he was assaulting me, not you, and it was one singular sword, not swords plural.”

Jake thinks about that for a second, trying to remember a time when you told him about your other family member. While he’s deep in thought, Jane takes the second part of your remark. “Dirk, the number of swords wasn’t the problem. You know what he meant. Why was your brother attacking you or anyone with any number of swords? Why does a little kid have swords?”

Roxy curls up next to you looking like she could doze off at any second, obviously completely unaffected by the discovery of your little brother or his affinity for swords. Or maybe she just didn’t like the accusatory atmosphere and was trying to escape. She did tend to do that when situations got heated sometimes.

“How can a kid defend himself without a sword?” you ask, answering Jane’s question with a question. You know that she hates that. You really hadn’t intended it. She looks frustrated with you. Shit.

Jake looks like he finally remembers the moment that you had been referencing earlier in the conversation. “You mean that time you told me that you had two members in your family?”

“Yes, that time,” you say.

“Well, by George, I guess you did tell me in a roundabout way, but why wasn’t it mentioned in any other conversations?”

“Never came up, I guess,” you say simply, and Jake sighs. You can tell that you’re fucking this up royally.

Jake and Jane both look frustrated with you like you had kept some big secret from them and Roxy is asleep next to you on the couch with her head on your shoulder because she wants to avoid the confrontation. There’s probably no way to save this.

“Does anyone want pizza?” you ask, and Jane and Jake look even more exasperated with you.

“Dirk, it’s not just that you have a brother that you’re taking care of, but I guess that we’re a little concerned…” Oh, hell. Here comes some kind of rant directed at you. And look at Jake using ‘we’ to refer to himself and Jane. How adorable. You can taste the cynicism creeping into your thoughts and onto your tongue.

“Concerned?” you ask, anticipating what’s coming and bracing yourself for impact. Project: Lose All Friends, commencing in 3, 2,…

Jake begins his reprimand. “By golly and other lovable phrases be damned, Dirk. I’m going to talk to you as seriously as I can. Your charge is how old? Nine?”

“Ten,” you state, for the record.

“Ten. And how does a normal day go here? You wake up. What does he eat for breakfast?” He walks over to your kitchen and opens the refrigerator, face horrified to see layers of chilled puppets. He opens the freezer to see mainly weapons and some waffles. He keeps up with his crusade of opening things in your kitchen and opens the cupboards, revealing some plastic silverware from various take-out places, mini figures, a slew of stickers and posters, and pop tarts. 

Jake continues, “Waffles or pop tarts it is, then. After that, he goes to school, I presume. I hope they feed him there. When he comes home, I’m guessing that you may spend some time together before going off to your night job and leaving him alone in a house full of weapons and puppets? I suspect he makes dinner and eats alone as well, judging by the time of your job. You also fight each other and put your lives in danger, it seems… Dirk, this kind of home life for a child is just not one that we can stand behind.” Again with the fucking ‘we’ bullshit.

“I’m his guardian, not his friend,” you say. “I teach him how to protect himself and get enough money for him to have a house and food, and that’s my job. That’s my life.”

Jake looks at you levelly, seriously contemplating what you say. “Do you ever spend time with him?” he asks.

“Like I said, I’m not his friend,” you say again. “He has friends. I spend enough time with him to teach him how to defend himself, and he doesn’t want to spend time with me anyway.”

“Have you considered that he thinks that _you_ don’t want to spend time with him?” asks Jake, and this is the question that sets you off. Of course you’ve considered this question a million and one fucking times. It’s the question that keeps you up at night. The question that makes you feel guilty. The question that you don’t want to spend all of your waking time thinking about anymore.

“Have you considered not coming into people’s houses and looking through all of their things and judging their lives based on facts that you don’t actually have?” You’re coming off too angry. They’re going to leave.

Jake looks hurt. “I… I’m sorry if I offended you, Dirk,” he says. “I think that I need to leave before I say something that I regret.” 

Jane wakes up Roxy, and Roxy groggily peels herself off of you and puts an arm around Jane’s shoulders. “Did I miss somethin’?” she asks.

“No, just time to leave now,” says Jane, gently guiding her to the door. “Let’s go.”

“Aw, man! I missed the whole party?? Bye, Di Stri! See ya next time!” Roxy says, waving as she’s lead out by Jane. The door closes behind them, and it’s you and Jake left together. Alone again, but the atmosphere is much different this time.

Jake looks at you a little bit longer. He looks like he has something he wants to say, but he keeps it inside.

“While we’re judging people’s lives, Jake,” you begin.

“Dirk,” he says, warningly.

You continue anyway. Might as well clear the air as the rubble and dust of your demolished friendship settle, right? “Who are you leading on? Me, or Jane?”

He looks more hurt than he had before, chin dropping a little, confident air completely deflated. “Bye, Dirk,” is his only reply as he walks slowly out of the room, taking an awkwardly long time to put on his shoes before leaving.

The door shuts heavily behind him, and the only sound is your little bro typing on his keyboard in his room. Probably telling his friends what a dick you are. And he’s right. You simultaneously got rid of the last one of your friends and probably fucked up your relationship with your bother even more. It really must take talent to fuck up this much. You take off your shades and put them next to you on the couch, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back against the top of the back rest. You take a deep breath, opening the little glass box in your head and unleashing your thoughts to take over for a while, spilling over and under every last fold and tangle of your brain. This really is what you deserve.

Suddenly, a finger is jabbing your ribs, and you lazily glance down to see Dave.

“Hey, Dave,” you say, letting your eyes close again.

“You never call me by my name,” he says, a little surprise in his voice. “But do you want to eat dinner?”

Your eyes spring open as you look at him, gaze admonishing. “You didn’t eat yet? You’re supposed to eat dinner before 10:00. You know the rule.”

“Yeah yeah I should eat at least an hour before I sleep. Well, I didn’t. So let’s eat,” Dave says, putting your phone in your hand. When had he taken your phone? “I’m taking you up on that offer for pizza. I know you said it to your friends or whatever, but I want pizza.”

You give him a little smile and dial the number for your favorite pizza place (obviously number 2 on speed dial), ordering the usual. You realize that it’s been a while since you ate together, and you guiltily feel good to be spending time with him. As a guardian, you feel strongly that it’s something you shouldn’t do too much, lest you become like a ‘friend’ and he loses interest in defending himself against you or learning how to fight. But maybe just this once… Maybe Jake was right about some things. Jake was the first one to really call you out on this, to really check your behavior that had gone unchecked by anyone by you for a very long time. Maybe it was time to reconsider some things. Changing your thoughts is nearly impossible, but spending this short time with your bro couldn’t be too detrimental, could it?

“Hey,” you start.

“Yup,” he answers.

You look at him seriously, still shadeless. “Can we eat the pizza together?”

He takes off his shades, too, mirroring you. “Yeah, of course,” he says, equally seriously.

The two of you fist bump to that just as the pizza arrives.

You give Dave more cash than needed to go get the pizza, unspokenly agreeing that he can pocket the change if he does the transaction. He takes the cash, paying the pizza guy along with tip, and you don’t watch him pocket the rest as you slide off the couch and onto the floor in front of the coffee table. You cross your legs under the coffee table and wait for the pizza.

Dave sets the pizza down on the coffee table roughly, sitting on the floor next to you.

“Any change?” you ask, opening the pizza box.

“Nope,” he says, taking a slice and stuffing his face. “You gave me the perfect amount like you always do.”

“Hell yeah I did,” you say, grabbing your own slice and starting to eat. “So, lil bro,” you continue.

“Yeah?” he says, and the way his tone reminds you of yourself almost makes you want to retreat and not talk to him anymore. You say that you don’t want him to become your ‘friend’ because then he might not be as able to learn from you, but there is another reason that you haven’t really put a name to. It’s a thought that’s always floating in your head, but you’ve always been too much of a fucking coward to grab it. And now that you’re looking at him, spending time with him like this, it comes to you, a bright red hot neon flashing sign. You’re scared that Dave will become like you.

However, it’s too late to turn back on your question now. “What are your friends like?” you ask. “The ones from school.”

He looks at you over his greasy pizza, light brown eyes—too similar to your eyes—narrowing slightly in suspicion. “Why?” he asks.

“No reason, just curiosity,” you say. “You don’t have to tell me.” You look away from him, starting your second slice of pizza.

He seems to debate with himself for a moment about whether or not he should share, but ultimately ends up telling you. “They’re cool. I mean, they’re good people, so don’t do anything fucking lame like worry about it or something.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” you say, looking back to him.

He decides to go on cautiously. “Well, their names are John, Rose, and Jade. John is really into pranks and super lame movies and stuff. Rose is the clever one, I guess, and she’s good at pretty much everything. Jade is loyal, and she likes stuffed animals and shit like you, except hers are way less creepy.” 

You listen intently while pretending to be listening casually as your brother describes all of his friends, and listening makes you think that your brother is actually a pretty cool little dude. Cooler than you had really ever thought. Less like you than you thought. You talk a little more about his friends, and conversation moves on to other topics like the webcomic he’s been thinking about starting as you finish off the last of the pizza. Another warranted fist bump.

“What about your friends?” he asks casually, throwing away the pizza box and taking a seat on the sofa. “They left pretty quick.”

“Yeah, I kind of fucked it up with them. But let’s not talk about that right now.”

“How did you fuck it up?” he continues. Tenacious little shit.

“It’s really not important. I don’t know if I’ll be seeing them again,” you say, wanting him to drop it.

“…I heard from my room that it was about me,” he continues again, not dropping it.

“Not about you, just about me and how I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing.”  
“It’s really not about me?” he asks, the innocence in his question reminding you that he’s ten years old.

“Yeah, really not about you, lil bro,” you reassure him.

He looks a little relieved, and you glance at your phone. “Time’s up, little man,” you say. “Time for bed and your goodnight smooch. Beat it.”

He grabs his shades and walks to his room, climbing into bed on time with much less resistance than usual.

You sit on the edge of his bed, but this time he’s facing you. You kiss his forehead, and for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like an ironic parody of something a guardian would do.


	3. Chapter 3

Your phone rings, and seeing that it’s Roxy, you put the phone face down on the table and continue making breakfast. Cereal. A work of culinary mastery. You pride yourself on knowing the precisely correct ratio of cereal to milk.

In a flash, you notice that your phone has been swept up into the grubby hands of your kid brother as he answers it recklessly. “Hey, ‘sup,” he says, and you want to groan as you hear Roxy saying something on the other side. “Yeah, he’s standing right in front of me, but he was just ignoring your c—“ You pluck the phone out of his hands, giving him a warning glance and gesticulating for him to sit down and eat his damn cereal before it gets soggy. It’s a complex gesture, but your bro understands.

“Hey, Rox,” you say casually as if the thing that happened nearly two weeks ago (and you had been avoiding everyone since) hadn’t happened.

“Dirk!!!!!” she squeals in your ear. “You weren’t at the bar, and we couldn’t find you, and we were getting so worried! I was about to hack your computer and try to contact you through there! Couldn’t remember where your house is, and Jake and Jane wouldn’t tell me.”

You latch onto the word ‘we,’ in her first sentence. “ _We_ were worried? Also, are you sober? Your voice sounds different,” you say, abandoning your cereal, which is sure to get soggy, and your little bro for the solace of your room. You lie on your bed, gazing through your shades at the gray-tinted ceiling, phone tucked between your shoulder and your ear.

“Yeah, Jake and Jane and me! We!” she says. “And also yeah, haven’t drank a drop of anything yet today!”

You don’t really believe that Jake and Jane are worried about you. “That’s really good for you,” you say, feeling that pride in your friends’ accomplishments rising again. Were you still friends?

“Hehehe thanks. I mean, it’s only 9am, but thanks! Anyways, where have you been?? And when are you gonna come back to the bar again? I miss you walking me home… My girl Janey’s good at it and all, but she’s not as strong as you… or as handsome!”

You feel a little bad about not seeing Roxy recently, but you had thought that Jane and Jake would convince her of what a terrible person and guardian you were and she wouldn’t want to see you. Thinking again, you’d probably underestimated Roxy’s tragic infatuation with you. 

“I’ve just been trying out playing at different bars recently,” you dodge, eyes playing connect the dots with your popcorn ceiling and forming constellations.

“Mhm, and it totes has no correlation to Jake blowing up at you when we all went to your place?”

“Totes,” you say. The implication of your escapist answer is a blatant lie.

“BS,” she says. “Aaaaanyways! Jake says that he wants to talk to you about stuff alone, wow what a secretive guy, so to meet him at his pumpkin patch ASAP. I didn’t wanna be the messenger between you two because you know what they do to the messenger, y’know _blam blam_ , but I’ll text you the address. I really want us all to get together again because it was really fun, and I want you guys to iron out your little kink or whatever, but I understand if you don’t wanna meet him too. Totes your choice.”

“He really told me to go to his pumpkin patch ASAP? He told you this today?” you ask.

“Well, he told me like two days ago, but you weren’t answering your phone, so I’m sure he’ll be hells a cool with you coming today. Just think about it! I g2g, see ya later hopefully!! Also tell your little brother that he’s super cute for me, thanks!”

Roxy promptly hangs up before you can say anything about how saying ‘g2g’ is the same amount of syllables as saying ‘got to go’, and the address to Jake’s pumpkin patch pops into your inbox. Well, you guess it’s time to confront Jake… Something you’ve been tiptoeing around like a fucking ballerina for the past two weeks or so. It’s not because you’re afraid of the confrontation, but more that you’re afraid of the friendship being declared over officially. It’s stupid to keep avoiding it when you should have just pulled off the bandaid, but it was kind of nice to live in the fantasy for a little while.

You get off your bed, walking into the kitchen to see your little bro finishing up the last of your bowl of cereal. “Damn, little bro. Keep eatin’ like that, and soon you’ll be a man,” you say, slapping him on the back in a terrible impression of pseudo-broness. 

“No way! Really, bro?” he says in terrible impression of pseudo-innocent-little-broness. He’s getting more well-learned in the arts of sarcasm, second only to and also under the umbrella term of irony.

“Also, Roxy says you’re cute,” you say. “I gotta go somewhere, but you don’t need any help getting to school today, right?”

He gives you a small smirk, as this is the first day you’ve ever let him go to school on his own. Usually you walk him to the corner of his school in the morning, and he takes the bus home in the evening. “Yeah, I think I can manage, bro.”

“Cool. Later,” you say, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your board on your way down to the street. You put the address Roxy sent you into the map on your phone, and it comes up as… Loading… 40 minutes by walking, so shave off about 10 minutes because of your sweet board, making about 30 minutes to get to Jake’s. Seeing as he said ASAP two days ago, you’re not even sure that he’ll be there at this time or even today. You’re also pretty sure Roxy is lying about him wanting to see you in the first place. But you put rubber to the pavement and take off to the pumpkin patch. 

You didn’t take time to think about your clothes and realize that you’re wearing the black wifebeater you slept in with some black jeans despite the cold, but you have your shades, and that’s all that matters.

You shred up the street, hang right, swing a left. The streets around this area are definitely cleaner than your part of town, but before you know it they’re not streets at all. As the street turns into a gravel road on the outskirts of the city, you pick up your board and continue, shoes crunching over the small rocks. You guess that it isn’t an urban pumpkin patch after all, but this area isn’t quite rural either. At this point, you don’t need to check the location on your phone’s map, as there’s only one gravel road that seems to go on straight into the horizon without any turns or bends. It looks unending, but after walking for about ten minutes, the picturesque grass fields to the sides of the road are splotched with dots of orange. 

The pumpkins only get more dense as you continue up the road, and eventually you reach a painted wooden sign reading, “English Pumpkin Patch.” There’s a small ghost drawn on the bottom, obviously indicative of Halloween. The most laborious and fruitful time of year for a pumpkin patch.

You look to the left and right of the road, surrounded by a sea of pumpkins on all sides. The gravel road is your only reprieve from the ghoulish little orange spheres now. You continue on, the feeling of being watched tingly on the back of your neck. Tinglier.

You spin on your heels quickly, eyes narrowing. You’re just in time to catch the culprit of the tingly sensation on the back of your neck about 20 paces away from you. You see shocking green eyes, short shorts, and twin guns pointed right at your head.

Your stance is set to strife as you subconsciously reach for your sword, which isn’t there.

“Who goes there?!” shouts Jake, squinting at you from across the distance.

You relax a bit, seeing that the nerd isn’t wearing his glasses. “It’s me,” you say.

“O—Oh, Dirk, it’s you…” he says, holstering his guns. He has fucking holsters on his thighs. Christ. You suppose that’s why he likes to wear shorts. Also, why did he have guns pointed at you anyways? Did masked bandits come to the pumpkin patch often to make away with them? Were pumpkin-related crimes at an all time high? “I took off my glasses for a bit, and in my haste to see who was walking up the old gravel road, I must have left them.” He closes the gap between the two of you, gravel emphasizing every step he gets closer and silence emphasizing every step he doesn’t as he stays about three paces away. “Why in good heavens did you come all the way out here?”

“Roxy said that you wanted to talk ASAP two days ago,” you say. “I mean, she told me today, but she said that you told her that two days ago,” you clarify unnecessarily. “She gave me this address.”

“Ah, our good old friend Roxy,” says Jake, smiling fondly. His smile fades too quickly. “What I really explained was that I felt we needed to talk, but it would be best to do that in our own time, perhaps when you reached out.”

“Shit,” you say. “So it was all a load of fuckin’ poppycock then?”

This earns a short laugh from Jake and another step closer to you. “Well-said. Though I suspect you already assumed that this may be another sly act of wizardry on her part to pull our band of friends back together?”

You had assumed that. Your gaze briefly shifts away from Jake’s face to a particularly interesting pumpkin on the side of the road, and back to Jake’s face again.

He continues, diving into the real shit. “I meant what I said that night,” he says. “Seeing the state of your home and how you treat your younger brother was appalling. I don’t expect my words to change your actions because you’re usually stubborn as a mule, but I hope that some good comes it. I’m sorry that we barged in on your house and your domestic life without much warning, but I really hope that… That something can change.” He keeps his distance at a long-legged two paces from you, but you can see the hurt in his eyes. Fuck the guilt rising in your stomach and the defensive anger rising in your throat.

“I fucked it up with you guys,” you begin. “But I’m not going to say that I’m sorry to you for it because I don’t have anything to apologize for to anyone but Dave. I’ve been a shitty guardian to him, and I’m grateful to you for calling out my bullshit. I’ve been unchecked for so long that it was just kind of became the normal, day to day routine, and I was too caught up in myself to realize that it was as fucked up as it is. It’s going to take a long time to change things with him because he hates me, but I’m trying to do what I can.”

Jake looks at you, at a loss for words.

“He’s not going to stop using swords because he does need to defend himself, and he’s fucking got a knack for it. But I’m spending more time with him and realizing that he’s a cool dude. I didn’t want him to be like me, but he’s really not. He’s so much cooler than me that it’s actually a little ridiculous to think that I even raised him.”

Jake still looks shocked, but he takes a step and a half closer, and you could touch him. You can feel his body heat radiating off him in waves even though he’s in shorts and it’s early October. His look of shock changes to a strange mix of hope and pride as he looks into your eyes. He reaches for your shades, and you let him take them off without slapping his hand away as you’d done the numerous other times any of your friends had attempted. He’s looking right into your eyes, and there’s no shield. Nothing’s between you, and it feels too intimate. His eyes are like lily pads in a serene, glassy pond. Yeah, you guess this shitty poetry will always come out when you’re around Jake.

“Jane and I broke up,” he says.

“That’s completely irrelevant to my captivating and emotionally-revealing monologue.”

He narrows an eye at you.

“I mean. Sorry. That sucks.”

Jake sighs heavily. “For some reason, I felt it imperative to disclaim that before commenting. But I’m really proud of you, Dirk.” He smiles at you, and you’re internally melting. You hope it doesn’t show in your eyes. This is the second time that you’ve ever had someone say that they’re proud of you, and it feels so much different than just being aggrandizingly proud of yourself.

“What happened with you and Jane?” you ask.

“It’s been a long time coming, I guess. Jane and I got on better as friends than we ever did as a couple. Really, she got frustrated with my shit and dumped me. I thought that I liked her as more than a friend, but I started clamming up when we talked for some reason, not to mention the faffing about I’d been doing with you… Not that you’re by any means the reason we broke up.”

“Faffing about?”

“The awkward tap dance of two. The old knee touch under the table sneakeroo we’ve been engaged in like two horribly conspicuous spies,” he says. So it hadn’t your Jake-hungry imagination making mundane occurrences feel like they were of some importance after all.

“Jake English, are you trying to say you’re interested in me?”

He looks flustered by how forward your question is, and you briefly want to turn back time and take it back. But that’s impossible because time doesn’t work like that. Time keeps moving firmly in a forward direction, and Jake’s face is getting red like a sunburnt tomato. Sunburnt tomato? This isn’t even cliched poetry anymore, it’s just becoming childish. You should have known from his under the table advances that he wasn’t the type to be forward, at least about any romantic proclivities involving you.

“I…” he starts, and you strangely relish the fact that you’ve shut up Jake with your words twice today. Maybe now it’s time to do it with your mouth…on his mouth. No. God damn it. Your overconfidence and your loaded question are working against you. Your rational thoughts are getting swept up in this undercurrent of emotions, too, and it’s awful.

“I suppose I am,” he says, and it’s probably both the simplest and most meaningful sentence you’ve ever heard him say. Except when he said he was proud of you a few minutes ago. Shit. He’s really interested in you. It isn’t just a game of cat and mouse anymore, and it isn’t some secret guilty pleasure. You’d put it out in the open, and now you have to deal with the consequences of this gnarly can of worms you’d opened up. Fucking off back to your house and burying this can of worms in this vast ass pumpkin patch forever sounds like a great idea. Experiencing this many emotions along with your usual overbearing thoughts is making your brain do fucking somersaults. However, your face remains unperturbed. You’re pretty sure.

“Oh,” is all that comes out of your mouth.

“Indeed,” he says, and the two of you look at each other for a while, seeing each other in a new light. So Jake is actually interested…in you? Your first real thought is, ‘Why?’ Your mind had been obsessing over the reasons why Jake would never be interested in you for so long that it feels weird to be wrong about it. After so much continued poking and prodding at the subject, at some point along the way it had become an immutable fact, a law, that Jake English could never be interested in Dirk Strider. So much so that you actually doubt his sincerity. You want this moment to be over.

“Also, your eye color is more boring than I anticipated,” he adds. You almost let out a literal sigh of relief at the tension being broken.

“Not all of us are blessed with god damn striking green-eyed genes,” you say. “Statistically speaking, brown was the most probable eye color for me to have, and it was unreasonable of you to assume anything otherwise.”

“Is it really?” he says, smiling. “But I really did expect something more. The allure of the mystery of what’s behind the shades of the enigmatic Dirk Strider really got my goose for a while there, but it seems that upon being solved, it’s a little anticlimactic.”

“The allure of the mystery always outweighs the satisfaction of its solution,” you say, taking your shades from his hand and putting them back on.

“Only you would think that, Dirk,” he says, full-lipped smile unchanging.

“No, that’s a fucking fact,” you say, glancing at the sun now that your shades are back on. Judging by it’s position, it must be about noon now. Seeing as you hadn’t eaten breakfast, you should probably get around to eating lunch at some point. As good a reason as any to get out of this pumpkin patch of shame and doom. “Also, I need to go eat lunch.” Okay, so hearing it come out of your mouth, it might not have been ‘as good a reason as any,’ but it was a valid excuse to go, albeit a rather lame one.

“Ah, right then,” says Jake, rocking back on his heels and avoiding your gaze. He seems to be looking at your eyes even less now that you have your shades back on. He was probably lying about being interested in you just to mend your friendship. In the best interest of both parties involved, maybe this whole incident should just be forgotten. You dismiss your other thoughts acknowledging your desire for this whole thing to be real and still others saying that you’re a coward.

You put your hand up for a fist bump before you go, but he pushes it away. Okay, he really wants nothing to do with y— And then he’s hugging you, arms wrapped around your waist tightly, head pressed into that perfectly Jake-shaped space between your shoulder and your neck. After a few seconds, he tries to pull away, but your arms quickly encompass his body, pulling him back flush against you. You can feel his charmingly-overgrown teeth against your neck, and you realize that he’s smiling. You’d never really fully realized how much shorter than you he was. He always looked so big in your mind. You let your eyelids fall heavily over your eyes, blocking out the world for a bit. They two of you stay like this for a while, breath messily unsynchronized.

It’s Jake who tries to pull away first, and again you just squeeze him a little tighter to make him stay. He resigns to your embrace, muscles relaxing against yours. “I thought you were hungry and needed to go,” he says, condensation from steamy puffs of breath against your neck picking up the October chill and giving you goosebumps.

“Ain’t gonna die of starvation anytime soon, Jake,” you say. “Just a little more,” you add in a hushed tone, and you can feel him smiling that goofy grin again.

“Well, seemed to be in quite the hustle and bustle to leave a couple minutes ago, so I just thought—“

“Jake,” you say.

“Why yes, Dirk?”

“Nothing.”

“You just wanted me to shut up, didn’t you?”

You don’t respond to that, just pulling him closer still and just letting yourself actually enjoy something for once in your life. You let yourself dissolve into him, and it’s alarming how few thoughts are going through your brain right now. Jake smells like sweat and dirt and cold metal. His hair is coarse and prickly against your neck and jaw.

After some silence, you release your hold on Jake, letting your arms fall to your sides and giving him the escape he wanted earlier.

And he hightails it the fuck out of there, but not before planting a kiss on your cheek. The pumpkin patch is flat, and you can pretty much see for a mile, so it takes him an awkwardly long time to get out of your field of vision. He doesn’t look back at you.

Well then.

You grab your skateboard off the ground from where it had dropped form your hand at some point and head back to the main road. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket and get it out, the brightness of the screen dulled by your shades. It’s a text from the number you input into your phone as ‘Jake.’ You open it, and it reads:

“Dirk, I was being an imbecile earlier. Forgive me. Also, I hope you get your grub on. -J”

You guess he didn’t even know you had his number in your phone because you’d never called. Another message arrives.

“By J, I meant Jake because this is Jake. You know, Jake English.”

Another ten messages arrive, and you give up on reading them as they come because they’re coming in some stream of consciousness bullshit pattern and start your ride home. You wiz past buildings and other people, pocket continuously buzzing all the way to your house. When you finally get to your room,—you note that Dave isn’t home yet—you pull out the phone again and scroll through the endless paragraphs of messages to the last one. “Call me,” it says. Well, aren’t you glad that you read the last one first? Who ever said that spoiling the ending was a bad thing must have not met Jake English or tried to wade through his texting antics, gadzooks galore.

You hear the ringtone for about five rings before Jake finally picks up. “Hey, Dirk,” he says in an oddly bright tone.

“Hey,” you say.

“You didn’t read my messages, did you?”

“Honestly, I read the first two and kind of skipped to the ending. Wanna give me the condensed version?”

Jake lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Destroy them at once!”

“Well, now my interest is piqued. If you really wanted me to read them and analyze every last detail, all you had to do was ask.”

“No, really, Dirk!” he says. “…Please do not read a single confounded one of those. I was in a mental state unlike the one I am in now, and I used the messages as a way to work out my blasted feelings.”

“Gotcha,” you say.

“So you’ll delete them?” he asks, voice hopeful.

“Deleting right now…”

“That easy?”

“That easy,” you say. Of course you weren’t going to look into the thoughts of your friend without his permission. You know better than anyone that within your thoughts can be a tricky place to live, and you wouldn’t particularly want yours revealed to anyone until you’ve mulled them over enough to give them a solid shape either. That aside, you get the sudden uncomfortable sinking feeling that you might do a lot to please Jake regardless.

“Wow, thanks, Dirk,” he says, simultaneously somewhat unbelieving and grateful that at least now if you did read them, you wouldn’t be able to talk about them.

“So did you reach any conclusions after your misdirected thought tirade?” you ask, genuinely interested as you had actually deleted them.

Jake pauses for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve actually reached a conclusion about bupkus yet,” he sighs.

“I see. Honestly, I don’t know if I have either.” You want to remind him that he just got out of a relationship with Jane and tell him to hold his horses about making some rash judgement calls, but you’re not sure if he’s even considering an actual relationship with you or what he’s considering, so you don’t.

“I guess we’re in the same pumpkin patch then,” he says.

“In the same pumpkin patch is not even a phrase. That’s not even something that would be remotely relatable to anyone but you, with the inclusion of maybe some other fellow pumpkin cultivators and the stray couple kids trying to pick out a jack-o-lantern for Halloween.”

“That was the joke,” he says. This is the second time you’ve ‘fallen’ for one of the witty Jake English’s ‘gags.’ You suppose that your expectation of him being gullible and having charming and quirky phrases that he sometimes used inappropriately and completely unironically are working against you in this case, though.

“It’s not a joke,” you say. “You’re just trying to get me to stop correcting your mistakes by saying that they’re intentional.”

He laughs, talking in his impression of a cop’s voice. “The gig is up! Caught red-handed by Mr. Strider! By golly, I’m sorry for the phrases I learned all wrong from my nonexistent parents.”

Well, that took a turn. “Fuck, dude,” you say.

“Yeah, that one got away from me a little. Sorry,” he says.

“Me, too,” you say, for nothing in particular. You just feel a little guilty like somehow you made this conversation go south. There are only two people in it, so you guess in some way you were responsible.

“Let’s uh.. Hang up soon, and ponder over things,” says Jake. “I think that there’s a lot for the two of us to ponder, given the events of today.”

“I agree,” you say. “Let’s maybe try to meet in person to discuss things when we’re done pondering?”

“Smashing idea!” he says. “I’ll hang up first, then… Thanks again for not reading those messages. I owe you one!”

“You don’t owe me anything for not divulging into your private thoughts without your permission. That’s just the fucking basic human decent thing to do.”

He chortles on the other end. “I suppose you’re right, but thanks anyways. Let’s get in contact soon.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

“See you, then! English, signing off!” And with that, he hangs up the phone. You receive a message immediately saying ‘English signing off was a stupid thing to say. Please disregard it.’

‘Consider it disregarded and wiped from my memory. Men in Black fucking wiped the shit out of my memory with that mind-erasing gizmo they use. Hold up, what’s your name again?’ you type back, sighing and putting the phone face down on the bed beside you. You know that he probably won’t text back anytime soon because of his _pondering_. And you really should ponder this, too, but all you really want to do is spend more time with him. You consider going back over to that god forsaken pumpkin patch again right now. A stray rational sliver of a thought lets you know that this is a batshit crazy idea and that you would probably appear as insane as you actually are if you do that, so you chuck the idea into the ‘postpone: for use later’ pile.

Well, it’s time to get serious about this now and diagnose every aspect of your relationship with Jake. Broaching this delicate topic with yourself won’t be pleasant, but you decide that what you need is a plan. A course of action. You slide the puppets off of your desk, get out a paper and begin creating a map of possible outcomes of different situations. You’re sure to factor in different variables like his past relationship with Jane, Roxy’s feelings for you, and a multitude of others. Thinking in terms of possible situational hypotheticals is much more manageable (not to mention more effective) than just trying to deconstruct your emotions on the matter. You rest your arms on the desk, hand working furiously with the pen and filling enough pages to create a short but densely packed and confusing novel. 3:00 PM somehow magically becomes 10:00PM, and you hear a knock at your door.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s open,” you say, struggling to catch your liquid thoughts in your hand fast enough to freeze them on paper.

“Bro, are you making another one of your fuckin’ ludicrous mind map things?”

“No,” you say, not stopping writing your fuckin’ ludicrous mind map thing. No time to talk to him right now. This needs to be done as soon as possible. If you don’t calculate every possible outcome, how can you talk to Jake when he finishes pondering?

“Shit,” he says, looking at the untidy stack of A4 teetering precariously on the corner of your desk. The paper is less important than the process of imagining every scenario. The paper just gives you a canvas to organize and secure your madness onto; you can remember everything you write, so each paper becomes obsolete the moment you stop writing on it. “What’s the topic of this rampage?”

“I’ll make you dinner in a second, lil bro,” you say dismissively, switching to your left hand because you’re pretty positive the right hand is developing carpal tunnel or early-onset arthritis. 

“Yeah, right,” Dave says. “Last time you started one of these things, I didn’t see you for a day and a half.”

You wave your right hand at him in a ‘go away’ gesture, still fully focused on your writing. “Give me fifty minutes,” you say.

Your little bro leaves the room in a huff, probably sulking off to talk to his friends online. They’re better company than you anyways, and he knows how to fix himself dinner if your planning happens to go a little over the fifty minute mark. Which you both are thoroughly aware that it will.

After what seems like ten minutes but was probably a lot more time, Dave is back in your room. He witnesses the carnage of your desk and sees that the paper has flowed off of it, creating a small puddle around you on the floor. “Bro,” he says, trampling your papers as he approaches your desk. He grabs your right hand and starts fucking massaging it. 

Alright, you’ll bite.

You turn your attention momentarily—very momentarily—from your work and look down at Dave’s hand on yours. This is probably the most physical affection the two of you had shared for a while, besides sparring and goodnight kisses, of course. Those were a given. He just keeps kneading your hand like its dough. He’s no masseuse, and it doesn’t feel particularly good.

“…What’s up,” you say, transfixed by the unpredictability of this situation. You turn your attention Dave’s face.

Your little bro is proudly wearing a slight smirk on his lips. “You hurt your hand,” he says, still moving your bigger hand around between his little ones like a ten-year-old kid trying to give a hand massage.

Dave would never do this of his own accord. “Did one of your friends put you up to this? Is this some kind of prank?” you ask, a little concerned about his potential budding interest in the goofy and altogether unnecessary world of pranks.

“Yes… and no way, pranks are douchey,” Dave answers your questions, and you’re relieved.

“Was it the Lalonde?” you ask.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

Lalondes are all about keeping people together is what you think, but “Just a hunch,” is what comes out. “Anyway, what do you want?”

He drops your hand, obviously getting to the part of the conversation he wanted all along. Or maybe he was just getting uncomfortable about touching you for so long. “Pizza,” he says.

“No way. We just had pizza. Pick something else.”

“Chinese,” he says after thinking for no time at all. You suspect he wanted Chinese from the beginning but was trying to talk you up from pizza.

“Sure,” you say. “Wallet and phone are on the bed.”

He quietly walks over to your bed—you’re proud that you can barely hear his silent stealthy footfalls—and picks up your phone to dial the Chinese place (obviously third on speed dial). “Hey, you have like thirty messages,” he says offhandedly.

“Can you read me the last one?” you ask, hands making themselves busy with writing again now that your little bro was out of a two foot radius and wasn’t distracting you anymore.

“Says, ‘Well, drat, I’ve done it again. Don’t read!’”

“Delete them all,” you say, busy mapping out a scenario and its offshoots in which Jake actually accepts you for some reason. It's the first one of its kind, and it’s really only there for the sake of considering all possibilities.

“Got it,” he says, and you hear him press a few buttons and make your standard order to the crappy Chinese place down the street. He takes the phone out of the room with him as he most likely goes back to his computer to comfortably await the call telling you that the food is coming. Your phone being in the hands of Dave is the least of your concerns right now, and you continue writing before any more of your slippery thoughts try to get away from you.

Before long, the doorbell rings, and you let your little bro handle it. He knows the drill. However, you get a strange and suspicious feeling, remembering that he didn’t take your wallet but just the phone. You glance back at your bed to see your wallet sitting there. What the hell money is he going to pay with. What’s going on here.

In that moment, your questions are answered as someone bursts in your door in a flurry of uncoordinated positivity, and arms are wrapping around your shoulders. “Diiiiiiiiiiirk!” 

Dave must have contacted Roxy with your phone. Shit.

“Hey, Rox,” you say, patting her back with your left hand, the one that doesn’t feel like someone hit it with a hammer. 

She releases you from her grip and inspects your face. Her round eyes are usually full of mirth, but this time you can see a little worry. She looks away from your face to the now-chaotic jumblefuck of papers on and around your desk. “Jeez how many pages did you even write??”

You sigh, adjusting your shades on the bridge of your nose. “forty-three and a half,” you say.

She picks one up, examining it thoroughly. “These are front and back, so eighty-six and a half?? Oh my GOD, Dirk. Also, your handwriting is teeny-tiny… And what does this even say? Can you read this?”

“It’s shorthand,” you say. Your shorthand looks pretty much like a meaningless cluster of lines, dots, and scribbles to other people, but you have to write this way to keep up with the pace of your thoughts. It’s also pretty damn efficient. Every human with a need to write quickly should know how to write in shorthand. You imagine a doctor in charge of saving your life at a hospital taking her sweet time to write out every single letter and word as your life slowly slips away. ‘Why didn’t you fucking learn shorthand,’ the you in your imagination groans at the doctor. You die. Yeah, everyone should totally know shorthand. Also, you acknowledge that this situational list making thing might messing with your head a little at this point.

“Uh-huh, I always thought shorthand was just like cursive or somethin’, but this shiz is like not even English… Wow! Anyways, your little bro said you’ve been at it for like a good long while now and he’s gettin’ freaked out.”

You put your pen down, and your hand feels strangely empty. The moment it leaves your hand, you feel exhausted and also urgently like you need to pee. The feeling of your writing being unfinished gnaws at you. “Yeah?” you say. “I guess it’s time for a break anyway.”

“Hells yeah it is!!! We brought Chinese food,” says Roxy. When she sees you stand up, she adds in an undertone, “Also… are you wearing silky pink pajama bottoms? Hella cute, I’ma need to steal those later.” You don’t respond to that. They’re completely unironic and completely comfortable.

Roxy grabs your shoulders, and this time, she’s the one guiding you. She brings you out into the kitchen where you see your brother and a girl about his age sitting at the table. She looks a little like Roxy, but her features are sharper. She looks too poised for her age as she sits on the chair with perfect posture. It’s a perfect counter to your little bro, who’s hunched forward with both elbows on the table.

The girl looks at you when you enter the room. “Nice to meet you, I’m Rose,” she says more confidently than you’ve ever seen a ten-year-old act toward and adult.

“Dirk,” you say. “So, you’re Roxy’s little sis.”

“Yes,” she says.

“I can’t believe your little brother and my little sister are friends!!” Roxy butts in, smiling from ear to ear watching the two of them together. “Davey told Rose to tell me to come here, but I dragged Rosey along too because I think it’s great for us all to meet like this.” She giggles.

“Yeah, it’s great,” you say, taking your seat at the table. You’re across from Roxy and next to Dave. The remnants of the Chinese food rest in the middle of the table, Rose and Dave already eating. “Who did you call when you pretended to be ordering Chinese?” you ask your little brother suspiciously. “Also, where did you put my phone?”

“Oh, I did order Chinese. That was last night, bro. You didn’t even fuckin’ sleep just writing all through the night and shit. I could barely sleep because of the haunting pen sounds… And when you’re in your room, all the puppets like… look at me in your absence like they want me to be their new leader or something, and it freaks me out. That’s why I got Rose and Roxy to come over.” He plops your phone into your hand unceremoniously. “And here’s your phone.”

So it had been yesterday… If you started at 3:00 yesterday, that means you’d been writing for about 21 hours now. Not your worst planning stint. “So, you’re eating Chinese two days in a row? You know what that means.” He damn well knows the consequences of Chinese two days in a row.

Dave gains a new interest in his food, eating with more vigor than before. “Jesus Christ, bro, not right now. Can’t you see we have guests over?”

“Later,” you say, and Rose and Roxy are casting each other confused glances.

“Should I not have brought Chinese? Rose said that this was your fave,” Roxy says, smile dropping to a frown. “Sorry, Davey!”

“Don’t worry about it,” your little bro says. Rose is looking into your eyes evenly, one eyebrow slightly furrowed. You wager a guess that she, like Jake, doesn’t particularly favor your method of guardianship.

Rose looks around the table and, sensing the slightly detached atmosphere, decides to do what any logical person would do and takes out her phone to take a picture of all of your together. “Guys,” she starts. “It’s the first time that we’re all meeting! Let’s get a selfie. Everybody get in!!” She positions her phone at an angle so that all of you are included. “No, Davey, can you move a little… Dirk, you’re… Okay yeah. Yeah like that okay, one… two… three!!” She takes five pictures in a row and quickly reviews them, grinning. “Totally captures all of your personalities. ‘Specially the second one because you didn’t expect it.”

You venture a look at the pictures and see yourself, at this point shades all that are keeping your facade together. Your hair looks flat, your clothes are just a shirt and the pink silk pajama bottoms, there are ink stains covering your hands… You look like shit. Is this really what you look like right now?

You try to put that out of your mind as you eat your food. You wonder a little about this Rose girl. She seems pretty different from Roxy, and it’s the first time you’ve ever met one of Dave’s friends.

“Rose, what do you like to do in your free time?” you ask.

“Damnit, bro, don’t interrogate my friends,” says Dave, turning his head to face you. His eyes are hidden behind his shades, but you see his eyebrows wrinkle into an irritated V.

“No, that’s quite alright,” says Rose. “I’m always fond of a good book, and I’m currently enjoying Camus, but my interest in authors can be fickle.”

“Camus’s the shit,” you say, gaining some appreciation for this kid. Absurdism is like irony’s estranged cousin twice removed, and you’re down with Camus. “Have you read The Stranger?”

“Of course,” says Rose, a small smile appearing on her face at the thought of having a conversation about literature. You assume that the probability of finding someone to talk about the intricacies of absurdist novels with when you’re ten is probably about nil. Shooting the breeze with this kid for a while probably won’t jeopardize your planning too much, so you dive in to your conversation about literature. Roxy and Dave have dubbed the two of you as ‘nerds’ and started their own side conversation by the time you’re about five minutes in. 

The two of you start with Camus, travel to Kafka, take a brief detour into the territory of Freud, and end up in more modern works that have been integrated into pop culture like Harry Potter. She’s quick, and your conversation soon settles into a natural rhythm. It’s actually been a while since you’ve discussed anything you’ve read as well, so it’s kind of refreshing to hear other opinions on things besides your own. You’re always surrounded by your own opinions on everything, and that can be pretty overbearing.

When your conversation seems to reach a natural stopping place, you glance over your shoulder to see Roxy and Dave in the living room watching a movie together. You find Dave’s ambivalence towards literature a little disturbing and wish that he would read a little more. Not that watching movies is any less valuable than reading, but then maybe Rose would have someone her own age to share her thoughts with. She seems to have a lot of them, like you, and god knows not getting them out in some way can be at the least frustrating and at the worst self-destructive.

“Shall we?” you say, looking at Rose and gesturing to the sofa where Dave and Roxy are watching a movie.

“We shall,” she says, hopping off her chair and accompanying you to the living room.

As the two of you take your places on the couch on either side of Roxy and Dave where there is still some room, Roxy says, “Fiiiiiiiinally! You guys were like a total nerd-fest over there foreeeeever. Snore! Anyway, the movie’s just getting good now!” Roxy snugly nuzzles her head on your shoulder, and it feels easy somehow. This whole situation has an ease to it, and it’s putting your thoughts into a complacent daze. There’s only a faint itch to keep writing left somewhere at the back of your mind. You feel somewhat grateful for the temporary distraction, but you can’t think about that for too long, lest what you’re grateful for, and in effect the itch itself, become more real.

Roxy stays tucked tightly against your side as the credits roll, and the kids make a break for it to Dave’s room. You’re left alone with an armful of Roxy on the sofa.

“Rox?”

“Mmmph?” comes the muffled reply. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes as she looks up at you, removing her head from your shoulder.

“I was just seeing if you were awake or not. It’s okay if you sleep here,” you say.

“Well, you woke me up anyway, so let’s hang out for a lil bit before I pass out,” she says, scooting a little ways away from you on the couch so that she can see your face better.

“Yeah, sure. What do you want to talk about?”

“I wanna talk about you and your ignoring us for like weeks and weeks and all that writing shit you’ve been doing in your room,” she says.

“Anything you want to talk about that’s not that?” you try.

“Nope,” she says, looking at you a little more intently.

“Figured I would try,” you say.

“So, Dirk, what’s your problem?” she says in a way that’s completely non accusatory and much more curious.

“I guess the problem was somewhat in the relationship between Jake and me, like you implied earlier.”

“Yeah,” Roxy says. “But I feel like this stuff’s deeper than just you and Jake gettin’ in a little argument or something.”

“It is. The problem is mostly—” you start.

“If you say that you’re the problem, I’ma hit you,” she says. “Just gimme the whole story. I heard bits and pieces from Jane and Jake, but I think your side is more important here.”

You hesitate briefly before spilling your guts to Roxy. “…Fine. Jake pointed out a lot of fucked up shit I’d been doing. I’d really just been doing it for so long that I hadn’t thought anything about it. Because there was never anyone else watching, I had really gone unchecked for too long, and my relationship with Dave was messed up to say the least. Not that it’s improved much now, but after Jake pointed that out, I withdrew from all of you guys. I was thinking about it for a long time, but I started spending some more time with my bro and saw that he’s actually a cool guy. To be completely honest, I’d been scared that spending time with him would make him become like me. I’d been keeping up this godawful distant bro act for a long time, and I think that Dave’s childhood was probably more fucked up than mine was because of me… I’m grateful to Jake for making me really analyze the situation fully and not just carry on as I had been, but at the time I was bitter about it. All in all, Jake was trying to fix my relationship with Dave and being generally helpful, and of course I was a complete dick about it. So yeah, I was the problem.”

Roxy looks like she’s taking everything in, nodding and letting you tell your story without interrupting. You really trust her, and all of your thoughts and feelings slip out easily like stream of consciousness. When you finish, she thinks a little before responding. “Hm… That does suck. But I told you that he wanted to see you, right? Did you meet him? …Also quick sidebar, your little brother turning out to be like you wouldn’t be a bad thing anyway! And I’m glad you’re hanging out with him.”

The last part of what she says gives you a strangely visceral reaction, and you can taste bile in your throat from how disgusting it is to imagine your brother becoming like you. You avoid talking about that part. “I did meet him, and I’m pretty sure we worked things out,” you say vaguely.

“Dirk,” she says, giving you a look. “You just told me like a nooooovel about your problem, and the resolution only gets a sentence?? And if it went well, why are you holed up in your room writing so much that your little brother is worried about you?”

“He was worried about me?” you ask. How would she know that Dave was worried? You’re sure that he probably wasn’t because worrying shows that you bear something other than complete indifference toward a person. And you’re pretty sure that your brother doesn’t—at least shouldn’t—care about you as anything more than a source of food, shelter, and an internet connection.

“Yeah, he told me ’n Rose not to tell you, but why did you think he asked us to come here? I thought you could be like a human lie detector or something, but obvsi not if you think Davey was telling the truth when he spun that yarn about asking us to come over because he was scared of your puppets or some BS. Sorry, but your little bro’s as transparent as a window, and he was super worried about you. But I think you know that somewhere deep down. Anyways, back to the resolution with Jake and the writing papers and stuff.”

You decide to contemplate about Dave worrying about you more later. “There really isn’t much to report on that front, Rox. I went to the pumpkin patch to see Jake. We talked for a while and figured shit out between us.” You feel a little bad about omitting the part where you might have some kind of romantic feelings toward each other, but the reasons for that are twofold. 1. You’re not sure that Jake wants his possible orientation and personal business told to Roxy, and you’re not sure how much she knows about it. 2. That situation isn’t resolved yet, so who knows how it’ll go down.

“Alright, then!” says Roxy, smiling again. “I’m so glad the boys kissed and made up!” Phrasing, Roxy… “So, we’re all friends again then?”“I heard that Jane and Jake broke up,” you mention, not sure if this will put any strain on your friendship.

“Ah, right,” says Roxy, frowning. “They’d only really been dating for like a couple days before we met you, and it wasn’t super serious or anything, but Jane was still kinda upset about it. Still kinda is, but the three of us have been hanging out again recently, and it’s not too awkward! I feel bad for poor sweet Janey, but it’s kinda nice not bein’ a third wheel sometimes.”

“I’m glad it didn’t ruin their friendship,” you say, thinking of the seventeen scenarios you’d already constructed in which getting in any way romantically involved with Jake jeopardizes your friendships with everyone around you.

“Yeah,” says Roxy. “So anyways that means we all have to hang out again! It’s been wayyyyy too long since the four of us all met up! What bar are you playing at these days? We can all go there to meet… I’m sure the other guys won’t mind goin’ somewhere new.”

After a while longer of making plans and chatting, you notice Roxy’s speech start to slur for completely alcohol-unrelated reasons and her eyes begin to droop. You keep talking, but decrease your volume to let her doze off. You have a lot of experience with Roxy falling asleep on you, and it’s always a strangely relaxing experience. The way she falls asleep mid-conversation reminds you of how Dave used to fall asleep when he was a littler kid than he is now, and it’s strangely endearing.

Carrying Roxy is another thing you have a lot of experience with. You swoop her up in her arms—a gesture she would definitely say was ‘so romantic swoon’ if she were awake—and take her to your room. Her weight and body heat are familiar against your arms and chest as you support her with one arm under the hollow at the back of her knees and the other around the back of her shoulders. You position her head against your chest to prevent her neck from lolling over the side of your arm precariously. You gently set Roxy down on your bed, moving the puppets except Cal (you leave him there on the bed to protect her) onto the floor for now to give her more room; you also know that she tends to thrash around a lot in her sleep.

Roxy tries to start talking to you, but you just shush whatever weak protests she’s trying to make in her sleep-addled state. You hold two corners of the blanket and lift it up so that it settles neatly over her and leave your room, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind you. 

You head to Dave’s room, opening the door slowly and quietly in case the two of them have already fallen asleep. Dave looks over at you from his seat in front of the computer, room bathed in the blueish glow. Rose is asleep on his bed. 

Dave wordlessly turns off the computer and sneaks out of the room, and the two of you go to the couch. “Roxy in your bed?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “You take the couch.”

“Nah, bro. You’re older and probably have arthritis or scoliosis or something by now. You take the couch.”

“Dave,” you start, and he winces at you using his name like you’re about to punish him or something. Fuck. You’d fucking trained him to be scared of you like one of Pavlov’s dogs or some shit. And he was worried about you? Just. Fuck. You continue. “Do you remember when we lived in that shitty apartment? I mean, this one isn’t glamorous or anything, but the one before this one.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Vaguely. It would have been until I was like six, right?”

“Right, we actually moved out on your sixth birthday. That place was a fuckin’ shithole. A studio with nothing but a couch—this couch, actually.”

Your little brother nods his head, feigning disinterest, but he’s looking at you intently. You can see his eyes from the gap between his shades because his face is turned profile. You know he can see your eyes, too.

“That place was like hell, but I had to work three part time jobs to afford the rent. And whenever I came home, which was rarely, you would always be bouncing around on this couch and swinging swords around and playing like it was the fuckin’ Chuck E. Cheese. Having the time of your life. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re an awesome little dude. And even though I’m the worst guardian you could have had the misfortune to be stuck with, you always make the most of it by doing surprising things like being badass with swords, creating really cool shit, and making great friends. Also, I’m sorry. Also, you take the couch.” You finish by moving to the floor in front of the couch, leaving Dave sitting there by himself. Was that even an apology? It was disjointed and shitty, and you really don’t hope that he accepts it. It would be ridiculous for him to accept it after what you’d put him through.

“…” Dave doesn’t say anything, but you hear the fabric on fabric sound of him lying down on the couch behind you.

You lie down on the ground in front of the couch and settle in for a long night of sleepless sleep and swimming thoughts. Thoughts commending you for sucking it up and apologizing, thoughts chastising you for being so selfish to apologize and not expect him to accept; after all, if he can’t accept, then is your apology just a selfish move to get the guilt off of your own chest? Thoughts about Jake swirl and mingle until everything becomes an incoherent mind-numbing mess.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunlight is making weird red and blue shapes appear in the blackness behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes, you’re surprised to see Roxy’s face about two inches from your own.

“‘Mornin’, Dirk! Guess who made pancakes!” she says, eyes full of accomplishment. “And why do you sleep with your shades on? I thought I’d at least get to see those mysterious Strider peepers after spending the night at your place!” Slight disappointment.

You rub the back of your head and sit up, arms stiff from using them as a pillow while sleeping on the floor. “The allure of the mystery always outweighs the satisfaction of its solution,” you say, quoting verbatim what you’d said to Jake a few days prior.

“You’re the only one who thinks that! The solution is ob-vi-ous-ly the most satisfying part. That’s why we wait ’til the end for it!” she says.

“You and Jake both need to talk to Jane,” you say. Jane knows mysteries better than the three of you put together, and you’re sure that she would side with you on this one. Standing up, you look to the kitchen to see Rose and Dave already sat at the table eating Roxy’s pancakes. Dave is very pointedly not looking in your direction. “Also, did you bring pancake mix?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says. “I knew you wouldn’t have anything to eat around here anyway. Don’t worry, though, I didn’t buy it or anything. Just took it from mom’s pantry.”

While walking over to the table, you decide to check your phone for the first time in a while, and it’s clogged, yet again, with messages from Jake. Roxy looks over your shoulder as you scroll down to the last one, which says, 'Right, so, Dirk… Could we meet at the pumpkin patch, say in, perhaps, an hour? Thirty minutes? Post haste? I’ll be here anyway, so come whenever… I think I’m ready to discuss the pondering.' Your breath catches in your throat, and you head to the door without any hesitation. You grab your board, slip on your shoes, and shut the front door forcefully on the voice saying, “Wait… Dirk? Where are you going?” and something about pancakes getting cold behind you.

You don’t waste any time getting the fuck out of your apartment building and boarding over to the pumpkin patch. The wind ruffles your hair and untied shoelaces as you weave in and out of groups of people on the sidewalks. A few people gasp as you pass. 

There’s exhilaration in not knowing what Jake’s going to say. You think you’ve mapped out every reasonable possibility (barring natural disasters and the like), but at this point you’re really not sure which of them he will choose. Your stomach feels tight as your exhilaration turns to anticipation, which in turn fades into a sharp anxiety. Nevermind. Not knowing—not being in control of the situation—sucks.

As your wheels start eating up pieces of gravel and angrily spitting them back out, you hop off your board and just kind of leave it laying helplessly at the end of the gravel road as you go off in search of a glasses-wearing pistol-shooting boy in a pumpkin patch. At least you hope he’s wearing his glasses this time. As you make your way down the gravel road, the orange vegetation grows more dense around you, and you can just make out a tiny Jake in the distance. Shit. Should you turn back now? Did you come too fast? Was it creepy? Fuck. No. Abort.

“Dirk!!!!!” you hear from the small figure in the distance, and it’s too late to go back home and eat pancakes. You begin the slow walk of shame towards Jake, going off the gravel road and picking your way through the pumpkins. You realize that he’s running toward you, and the chance of you being rejected drops by ten percent. Unless he just wants to break the bad news and get it over with so that you can sever all ties and get on with your lives as quickly as possible. The percent rises by ten percent again, putting it squarely back in the no-man’s land of fifty-you-know-fuckall-about-how-this-will-turn-out percent.

Jake sprinted toward you from what was probably a quarter of a mile away, but he’s barely out of breath when he gets to you. The vitality of this guy is unparalleled. “Hey!” is all he says. Simple unemotional greeting: rejection rate plus forty percent. Closeness of your bodies right now: rejection rate minus twenty percent.

“Hey,” you echo, and he starts laughing. He’s laughing at you: rejection rate plus fifty percent. Rejection is imminent.

“Dirk…” he says in a puff of breath through his laughter.

“Yeah?” you say, seriously contemplating an awkward but effective plan of delayed abscondance.

“You… Your clothes and your hair. I mean… I know you have a thing for irony, but this is brilliant!” he says, still laughing. This guy just sprinted a quarter of a mile and didn’t so much as breathe heavily, but now that he’s laughing, he’s practically panting.

You look down at your clothes and realize you’re wearing last night’s pajamas—silky pinkish bottoms with a plain white tee. Your hair feels flat against your head, and you’re sure it makes your shades look ridiculous with the whole ensemble. You guess it’s at least a little situationally ironic, and you’re pretty okay with it.

“Anyway…” Jake continues after composing himself a little. “I’ve been giving some thought to my ponderances.”

“Ponderances isn’t a word that relates to pondering,” you say, fucking up any atmosphere there had been between the two of you in the moment.

“Friggin’ let me _continue_ , man!” he says, and he looks cute when he’s flustered. You let him continue. “Like I was saying, I’ve been giving the old ponderances some thought, and I think I’ve come to my conclusion.”

He’s going to reject you. It’s definitely one hundred percent certain now. You can see which path this is going down. “Yes, I think I’ve reached a conclusion, too,” you say.

“Oh, great! Well… Who should share his conclusion first?”

“…”

“Dirk?” he says.

“I was letting you continue.”

“Oh, heck,” he says, taking a deep breath before continuing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this nervous. “Well, then… I’ve thought a lot, and I think I’m really over Jane. It was just kind of a fling, a romp into romance by friends if you will, to begin with. I’m really glad that I’m still friends with her, but I think that she might not be completely over it. When I look at her, she still has these kind of sad glances sometimes, and I feel a little bad about it because I was under the impression that it was more of an experiment and all in good fun, and she maybe… Well, I mean to say that I think you’re a really charming and cool guy, and you’re a great friend to me.”

Yes, this was the rejection that you had expected.

“Yeah, I understand, man. I get it completely,” you say, and you really do get it. He was in a relationship with Jane, and she’s still upset, and he doesn’t want to make her more upset by trying any funny business with you. He doesn’t want to ruin the friendships between anyone, and you totally respect that.

“I’m not finished,” he says, taking a second and looking down at his feet before looking up at you again. “I have a proposal for you.”

“Shit, dude… Didn’t expect things to get so serious so fast,” you say. Praying to the stupid sarcastic humor deities to diffuse the situation. This weird tense urgent atmosphere is making you feel unnerved, like your calculations might have been slightly off. And you like it. You’re getting too comfortable with the idea that Jake might just want to have something to do with you, and suddenly you’re actively hoping for it. You want this—him—and you don’t want to give up the idea of the two of you together, even for the sake of yourself.

“Can we maybe try dating?” he asks promptly, and it’s not even a question to you. The spell is broken. The awkwardness surrounding the two of you being guys, the weird unspoken tension. It’s all gone just like that. You feel like you pressured him into it, but you didn’t…right? He continues. “I mean, maybe we could try just the two of us, just kind of… like that for a while? Just at the beginning for a trial basis to see if anything comes of it.”

“You mean dating in secret,” you state. You understand his implication.

“Well, yes,” he says. “I mean, considering the fragile state of our friendship group given my blunders with Jane, maybe it would be the best if the two of us could just experience a budding relationship without the burdens of the judgement of others.”

“Okay,” you say. Did you say it too fast? Was this something you were supposed to consider? Were you supposed to have a ‘ponderance’ period first? You guess you’d already done this, as today playing out in this way was situation number 115 in your notes. It was one of the last ones you’d written, as it was one of the most improbable. But you guess your calculations could have been skewed due to your internal tendency toward self-deprecation.

Jake blinks a few times. Shit, your answer was too fast. “Okay? Okay then.” A smile starts to spread itself across his face. “Okay then,” he repeats.

“Okay then,” you say. Now that Jake had made his choice, and now that you’re ‘secret boyfriends’ or some shit, you feel like you can relax a little. First and foremost, it’s because you really like Jake and had been pining over him for some time now. A much more distant second, from here, there are far less possible outcomes, and you’re pretty sure you can direct things to go a way that you want without interfering with anyone’s free will. You’re not a control freak or anything, but a big decision like that being in the hands of Jake had made you go a little crazy there with your situation list. Okay, yes, maybe you’re a giant insane control freak. 

You continue. “So, if this is a secret, we need a course of action to keep it that way, at least until we feel comfortable revealing it or…” Or he breaks up with you. You don’t finish the thought.

“Right, then,” says Jake. “First things first, I guess we should cut ties with all of the fiddling around we do under the table.”

You give Jake a small smile. He was willing to risk his relationship with Jane just to show you his affection, but he’s not willing to risk the secrecy of your relationship on it? Maybe because he knows he has your affection now. “No, man,” you say. “Everybody knows about that shit already, so if we suddenly stop, it’ll look suspicious.”

His face looks worried. “Everybody knew about that the whole freakin’ time??”

“Yeah, we were pretty obvious,” you say. “Roxy just thinks that we’re really close bros though. She also knows that I like dudes, but I don’t think she knows that you… might.”

Jake shifts uncomfortably. “Perhaps we can move this covert conversation to somewhere less…public?”

“Dude, we’re in a pumpkin patch in the middle of nowhere.”

“I know, but people could come to get pumpkins for Halloween! It’s opening time in an hour, so could we maybe move this to mine for the time being?” he asks.

“Sure,” you say. You’ve never been to Jake’s house, and your curiosity is piqued. “Lead the way.”

The two of you walk down the gravel road toward the main street, and you see your rejected skateboard at the entrance and pick it up, checking it over for cracks as you continue walking alongside Jake. “So, Mr. Strider. You must have been in quite fit of haste to get here,” he says, raising an eyebrow at you as he glances again over your questionable pink and silky fashion and hastily orphaned skateboard.

“Yeah,” you say. “I honestly thought you were going to reject me.”

“So you rushed all the way here to get rejected by me? I’m dubious as dickens about that, Dirk,” he states as the two of you walk side by side down the road toward Jake’s house. You can see it in the distance, the lone house on this street.

“Admirable use of alliteration, but why are you dubious about that?” you ask.

“Well… I don’t know,” he says, quickening his pace a little. The house on the horizon grows as you get closer to it. “I wouldn’t want to inflate that Strider ego of yours more than necessary, but you're kind of a swell guy. Looks and talent and brains and all that. Also, Jane and I always thought that you and Roxy had something between you. The two of you are just as close as bread and jam."

"Who's the bread in this scenario?" you ask, and Jake snorts, not indulging you like Roxy would. "Yeah, she knows that she and I is an impossibility. That being said, I still hope that I don't hurt her... Roxy's my best friend."

Jake just nods in acknowledgement, understanding that you want to talk about your relationship with Roxy and how guilty you feel about it about as much as he wants to talk about his guilt over his relationship with Jane. You've reached the front of Jake's house, and it's a little intimidating. The house is two stories, brick, with huge windows that look like shocked eyes. It's not the typical farmhouse, and it seems out of place being on a road by itself. You put your skateboard down on the porch.

Jake opens the front door, and holds it open for you. You follow him into the house, and it's surprisingly bright inside due to the large windows not having any curtains. The door opens to the living room, which is spacious and covered in floral print furniture. A giant TV is mounted on the wall, black sleek design competing with the floral sofa. As some houses are infected with ants or small insects, this house seems to be infested with DVDs, as they’re scattered all over the floor near the TV. Similarly to your house, the kitchen is on the other side of the living room. There's a large island, and all of the cabinets are made of a light-colored wood. This house is the picture of a comfortable family home, the complete opposite of anywhere you'd ever lived.

"Welcome! Like I said before, it was my grandma's house, so pardon the florals and little gadgets and doodads! I don't actually know what half of them do," says Jake, closing the door behind you and opening his arms wide, smiling.

You hadn't really noticed said doodads, but now you can see a plethora of them littering the bookshelves in the living room now. You have an urge to pick them up and see figure out how they work. "It's great," you say without any trace of sarcasm. It's the kind of house that makes you feel a sense of loss for a childhood you never had and can't really fathom having.

Jake laughs, probably thinking you might have been being facetious, and he gestures to the couch. "Shall we sit and chew the old fat for a while?" He glances at a clock on the wall. "45 minutes until the patch opens, so it looks like we have some time to ourselves."

You take a seat on the couch in front of Jake's ridiculous TV. Jake goes and gets both of you a glass of water before sitting down with you. It's cold in your hand and appreciated in your hand, and you take a long sip. "Thanks," you say.

"No problem at all!" says Jake. "I should have offered other beverages like juice or tea as well... Let me know if you want any of those!"

His courtesy is beguiling. "Nah, I'm really alright with water," you say, and a not completely uncomfortable moment passes where you both drink your water. "So," you continue. "Why do you like me?"

Jake is obviously caught off guard by your question, as he sputters for a second. "Dirk," he says. "You can't just up and ask people why they like you! We just did the confession thing, and I haven't had time to think about it or to prepare anything. I feel like my answer wouldn't be anywhere near succinct enough to satisfy you."

"I see," you say, making a mental note to ask later after he'd had more time to prepare. "Then, where are your guns?" You're pretty sure that you're going to regret answer this question, but you're also sure that it'll make Jake happy.

You watch his face light up as if he’d been waiting for you to ask the whole time, and he disappears into another room in a flurry of action. "Well, come on then!!" he says, peeking his head out of the room he had just entered off of the living room. You stand up, walking slowly over to the room, and he looks impatient with you. Jake waves his hand in a "come hither" motion, and you walk a little faster.

When you're within grabbing distance, he snatches your hand and pulls you into the room brusquely. The inside of the room is a little dark, and it's about the size of a bedroom. You guess that it probably had been a bedroom at one point, but now the only tenants are Jake's rows and rows of guns. There are small ones and big ones. Some are on stands, and some are mounted on the wall. All of them are twinkling mischievously in the dim light. Jake stands next to you, gazing onto his children, a look of pride on his face.

He's so entranced by his collection that he doesn't even realize he's still holding your hand. He looks over at you, grin on his face, expectant.

"Nice guns," you say, not completely sure on the proper etiquette for complimenting a man on his guns.

He looks pleased enough, and he pulls you to the right, starting to explain a large rifle mounted firmly on the wall. He talks about how it was his grandma's and how he never uses it but likes to look at it and polish it sometimes. Then he moves to the gun next to it and starts explaining that one. By the time the two of you reach the third gun, you're becoming aware that he is planning on giving you the grand tour of each and every single gun in the room like the worst museum guide on the planet. You also realize that he is very curious about your reaction to each and every gun after he is finished explaining the make, model, history, sentimental value, and what was shot with it. The brunt of your sentiments are similar to what you said when you saw the whole room, but he's equally excited to hear that you think it's a 'nice gun' every time he hears it.

It may have been a mistake to get tangled up in the drawn out stories of museum curator extrordinaire, Mr. English, but seeing his passion as he discusses the guns is charming. You wish that you had passion like that for anything. You have things you like to do and things you like to think about, but as far as passions go, there isn't much except irony.

You keep your eye on the clock, as you're sure he's too swallowed up by his own stories to pay it much mind, and when 45 minutes have passed, you say, "Jake, I hate to interrupt, but you said the pumpkin patch was opening in 45 minutes, right?"

"Righto, but there's no way it's been--" he glances at the clock. "Well by golly, it is about that time! I guess I was having too much fun regaling the epics of yore to friggin' realize the time passing! And we only finished half the room! We've really got to finish the rest later."

"Sure," you say. At the very least, listening to him ramble for three quarters of an hour and holding his hand for equally as long hadn't been so bad. You think you might just be able to bear doing it again sometime.

Jake leaves the room, and you follow as he goes to the front door. He stops so suddenly before going outside that you almost bump into the back of him.

He spins around to face you, and you're too close. If you were the same height, your noses would be almost touching. Because you're not the same height, his nose is about at the level of your lips. The impulsive side of your brain wants to kiss it, but you reign it in just in time to not make a complete fool out of yourself. Your brain's impulsive part--a speck really--is pretty weak, and you always win against it.

Jake realizes that your proximity and seems slightly alarmed. He tries to take a quick step back, but the front door is behind him, so he just slams his back against it. You take a step back on your end out of courtesy, but the tension doesn't dissipate.

"Jake," you begin, thinking about the only logical conclusion to be drawn from his actions. "Are you going to ask to kiss me?"

He looks up at you, eyes opening wider as he recognizes that you're right about his intentions. Maybe he hadn't even known himself. "I...suppose I was about to do that," he says, not breaking eye contact. "Right after asking you to take off those blasted fucking silly shades.”

You take off your shades that you would never use the word ‘silly’ to describe and hold them tightly in your right hand. Jake looks at you in the eyes, face nervous but determined. “Would you mind kissing me?” he asks, voice unwavering.

“Not to sound objectifying, but I’ve honestly wanted to do that since the first time I met you,” you say, and you see his tan cheeks flush a deep red. The flush paired with his combatively determined expression are adorable. “So, do I have to ask you, too? I mean, I wouldn’t want to assume that you want to kiss me just because you asked a hypothetical question or—“

His lips press against your hard and fast, and you arch your neck down a little, pressing back. You take the step you’d lost earlier back, closing all space between your body and his. A flash of a thought telling you to feel bad that Jake’s back is against the wall as he has nowhere to escape passes quickly when he leans into you, wrapping his arms around your neck. Your arms naturally gravitate to his waist, and you pull him in closer still. The kiss turns into making out quickly. Cute turns sloppy, and somehow you’re tangled up in each other on the couch. You guess this is where a couple months of pent up infatuation and sexual tension leads.

Jake pulls away first, and you instantly take your hands off him. Shit, he doesn’t want this, is your first thought, and it must show because he just smiles at you and says, “No, it’s not that I don’t want to… continue adventuring down this road and see where it leads, but it really is about time I get to the pumpkin patch. Halloween is pretty much the only time that we can make even a gosh darn swashbuckling around here, and I really want to keep it up and running in my grandma’s memory.”

“Ah,” you say. “Yeah, sorry to hold you up… Fuck, that sounded pathetic and manipulative. I meant it sincerely.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Everything you say seems bushels more sincere when you’re without those confounded shades and when you happen to have left the house with pink pajama bottoms on.”

“Maybe I should consider changing my style,” you say, putting the ‘confounded shades’ back on.

“Alright, wise guy,” he says, smiling wryly and untangling himself from you. He stands up and walks back over to the door, somehow less urgently than before despite being very late now. You follow him to the door, not really wanting to leave. Unfortunately, Jake opens the door this time, and you scoop your board off the porch as the two of you begin the trudge back to the pumpkin patch.

“What should I tell Roxy?” you say, thinking out loud.

“Tell our fine blond-haired lass about what?” he asks, staying beside you and keeping his pace in rhythm with yours.

“She and her little sister slept over at my place last night. Her sister is friends with Dave. But I left in a big hurry this morning, so I’m contemplating what I should say, especially if they’re still there when I get back.”

“Roxy slept over at yours?” Jake looks a little hurt by this.

You take two steps in quick succession, and you slide to stand in front of Jake, facing him and halting his movement. “Jake,” you begin seriously. “I’m not capable of feeling romantic feelings for Roxy. Also, she slept in my bed, and I slept on the floor in the living room.”

He looks a little relieved, and you’re not sure if it’s about the first part, the second part, or both. “I see,” he says, and it looks like he believes you this time, even though he most likely can’t completely comprehend how it feels to not have the ability to be interested in women. You’re sure he can’t comprehend how you kind of wish you could be interested in women for Roxy’s sake, either.

Jake’s eyes shift over your shoulder, and you hear the heavy crunching sound of tires on gravel. “Oh gosh, a customer!!” Jake says, and he takes off running, taking a shortcut to the pumpkin patch. “Bye, Dirk!!!” he yells over his shoulder. “I’ll call you later!” he adds.

And you’re alone. The elusive Jake English has escaped from you again. You’d intended to walk him back to the pumpkin patch like a gentleman, but it looks like that plan was a bust. Time to go home. You flop your board on the ground unceremoniously and ride back to your apartment, thinking about your encounter with Jake and what you’re going to tell Roxy. Okay, so you end up thinking a lot more about the encounter. Okay, so you’re obsessing a little bit about the encounter. Yes, you’re obsessing over Jake. 

You want to call him, and your finger twitches toward your phone, but you stop it. That impulsive speck in your brain is acting up again, but of course the rational—the composed and collected you, the cool you—always wins. Always.


	6. Chapter 6

You open the front door of your apartment and are greeted by the familiar aroma of pizza. You guess in the time between you leaving, seeing Jake, and coming back, it had become lunch time. Taking off your shoes, you set your board down and step into the living room, where Dave, Roxy, and Rose are eating around the coffee table and watching a movie together.

Roxy is standing in front of you almost instantaneously. “Where have you been?” she asks. Rose’s head turns to face you, obviously curious as to where you’d gone in such a hurry. Dave just keeps eating, intentionally ignoring the fact that you’d even entered the room.

“Urgent business at the pumpkin patch,” you say, really hoping that there won’t be any followup questions.

“Oh, so you just met Jake?” she says, relaxing a little and going to sit down at the coffee table again. “We were all super worried about you!” You see Dave shoot Roxy a look of protest, as if to say ‘I wasn’t worried,’ but Roxy just continues. “You didn’t even change your clothes! We all thought it must be something really important like you need to go save someone’s life or something, like all resuscitating them: CPR, jaws of life, the whole nine, but it’s a relief that it was just some dumb pumpkins.”

“Yeah, just some dumb pumpkins,” you say, going to sit at the coffee table and grabbing a piece of pizza.

——-

When the movie is over, you bid Roxy and Rose goodbye, and Dave retreats to his room, leaving you and your obsessive thoughts to yourself.

You wonder what Jake is doing right now. He's probably tending to pumpkins and helping customers... But you want to know for sure what he's doing. You don't want to wonder or guess. Your hand drifts to your phone again, and you let it. You pick up and scroll through your contacts, pressing Jake's name. You do this quickly, but the whole process still feels too slow. You want to know what he's doing right now.

The phone rings ten times. No answer. You try calling again. No answer again. You guess he's really busy, which is good for the pumpkin patch. It's really a wonderful and great thing that he's busy, huh? Really. You call a third time, and still no answer. You cut your mind off before it can travel to the thought you're avoiding--that he's ignoring you.

You consider trying one more time, but stop yourself because three times already looks pretty needy for having nothing particularly pressing to say. You go to your room and try to dick around on the computer for a while, but you can't manage to click your way to any enjoyment. You change your clothes three times, trying on a hat and hating the way it makes your hair look before settling on the same black pants and white shirt you always wear. You try writing some lyrics, but they just all end up being about Jake. You pull some fabric, fluff, needles, and thread from your bedside drawer, then sitting on the floor and starting to craft some new puppets. The characters are all predictably lamer than Cal because nothing can be as cool as Cal, so you give up temporarily.

There's a knock at your door.

Your head snaps away from the carnage of a failed puppet design, cotton candy blood dripping off your hands as you open your door. There's a note from your little bro on the ground, reading "meet me in my room." You hastily scrap the note and head over to Dave's room, phone snugly in your hand. You take a step back after opening the door to his room as you always do, in case there's some kind of trap set up, but no swords come flying at you. No small explosives go off. No Home-Alone-level stunts. Just Dave sitting on his bed and looking at you.

"Hey," you say, not entering his room.

"Hey," he says.

"What's up?" you say, and he looks conflicted as to whether or not he should talk.

"Come in already. You're making me nervous just like looming there in the doorway." He moves over to make some room on the bed beside him.

You double and triple check that your phone is still in your hand, lest someone calls, and you take a seat next to your little bro on the bed. There's a long, uncomfortable silence between the two of you. You've noticed him avoiding you, and you don't want to be the one to force him to say what he's been thinking if he's not ready. Maybe it’s finally the time that he—

"So," Dave finally breaks the silence. "I guess I wanted to let you know that I'm considering it... Your apology, I mean."

"Oh," you say. "Thanks. You don't have to accept."

"I know I don't. That's why I'm considering," he says, and he looks slightly pained with the weight of his decision.

"You don't have to even consider it," you say. "If you just want to leave it. It looks like it's done more harm and good, and I probably shouldn't have even said it."

"No," he says. He thinks about what he’s about to say. "I...appreciate it, I guess. But I don't know if I can accept. I'll let you know when I kind of sort things out, but could you just give me some space until then? I've been kind of...liking...spending more time with you recently, but maybe things can go back to the way they were for a little while so I can decide? Not like the not giving me food and beating my ass deliberately at everything and leaving puppets around in creepy poses and with fucked up messages and mind games and shit, but the...you know...you not being around and us not hanging out part.”

Fuck. Your little bro probably doesn't even realize that he just destroyed you. All he did was reflect your own actions back at you, but coming from him it's enough to hurt. Not just hurt, but scar. You feel like you don't have the privilege to feel hurt, though, given that you've hurt him so much more than he's hurt you. You've been personally designing his pain for years, and you've been feeling like you're doing the right thing in a twisted way. You feel bad that you would have never noticed it on your own.

"Yeah," you say, getting up and leaving the room. "Just let me know. Or don't. I really understand that, too. I'll leave my card on the coffee table. You can use it for as long as you need; I have cash."

He just nods in acknowledgement that you'd said some words, and you close the door behind you as you make your exit from your little bro's room and probably his life. You're overcome by the urge to leave the apartment and give Dave some space. You decide to set things up for him first.

You cut all the ironic shit and head to your room to prepare some things for him like a good guardian should. You get your card from your wallet. You only have the one, but you can put the cash from your gigs in the account for Dave using your account number and information without the card. You can pay the bills with cash, too. He can use everything that's left over from that.

You get a menu from every place that you usually order from from a drawer next to your desk and put a neat sticky note on the front of each with their phone number to show it clearly. You consider buying groceries but decide that he wouldn't know what to do with those anyways. You consider making your brother take a cooking class. You consider taking a cooking class. Well, maybe Jane can teach you sometime. You continue preparing.

Next, you write a note. Not a heartfelt note to make him feel bad for you, but just a note describing how much money was currently in your account. You're sure he knows that he can use it all.

Food, check. Money, check. That seems decent for now, so you gather up the sticky-noted collection of menus and your debit card and letter detailing the funds available to your brother and arrange them neatly on the coffee table. Oh, of course. You go into your room and rip open a puppet that you'd stored his apple juice inside and place that on the coffee table, too. Now everything's out in the open. Nothing is hidden under layers of irony, nothing's vague or mysterious.

You give the coffee table one last once-over, and, satisfied with its contents for now, you leave the apartment. You intentionally leave the door to your room open to invite him to use your stuff because he knows your computer and equipment is better than his shitty stuff. You'd even stacked the puppets up in a closet (except Cal of course--you just couldn't bring yourself to do that to him, so you'd left him on the bed to watch over the house) so that Dave could use your room more comfortably.

You lock the door firmly behind you as you leave the apartment and enter the hallway, and you feel not dread, but a tremendous sense of pride. Your little brother had finally gotten tired of your shit and kicked you out. You'd always hoped that he'd get strong enough to stand up to you like this one day, and it seems like that day is today. Your pride is a paradoxical and emotion. To be proud of him in this moment, do you also have to be proud of how shittily you treated him to lead up to it? You draw a sharp line to delineate the two in your mind: you're proud of your brother, and you loathe yourself for making his life so fucked up. You keep the two separate in neat little containers.

You get to the ground floor of your apartment building and realize that you have no idea where you’re going. You don’t think you have enough cash for a hotel or even really a motel with you, and you’d left your card with Dave. What do normal people do during the day when they’ve been kicked out of the house. Well, you suppose they work, but you don’t have any gigs scheduled for today. Maybe you’ll just go walk around for a while. Taking walks is a thing people do, right? Taking strolls through a park or some shit? There aren’t really any parks in your area of town, but there’s a stream with a bridge. Maybe you should go there and... walk around a little. It’s really a lovely day for it. Yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do. 

When you get to the bridge, you look around and see a lot of graffiti and a couple homeless people. Your area of town definitely isn’t the most well-off, but it’s not without it’s charm. You wander around the area for a while, the stream forming a barrier between the outskirts of the city and a small forest. The distinction between the two areas that the bridge brings is quite interesting, as on one side there’s a people-infested wasteland, and the other side has what looks like a scene from Snow White playing out in 3D real-time. It’s hard to imagine that an area this picturesque and this green is so close to your place. 

That being said, this walk is really doing nothing to placate your hungry thoughts on the topic of your brother. Your thoughts are like hyenas in the way that they’re always hungry—hungry for your time, your attention, your sanity.

You almost don’t notice as your phone buzzes against your leg from your pants pocket. You mindlessly answer without looking at who’s calling.

“Hello?” you say, staring out over the somewhat trash-filled stream flowing between the forest and the city.

“Dirk?” Jake’s voice comes as a welcome distraction from the other end.

“Hey, man,” you say, scrutinizing the forest to see if you could make out any deer. Deer are kind of like smaller and more delicate horses, and deer are kind of cool, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen one up close.

“…Is something wrong? Is anything broken?” he asks. 

“No, why?” you say.

“Oh, alright,” he says, letting out an exaggerated cartoonish sigh of relief. “It’s just that you rang three times, and I couldn’t pick up because there were so many dag gone jack-o-lantern craved meddlesome kids running about today that I couldn’t call back until now.”

“Nah, nothing serious. I just wanted to know what you were up to. Assumed it was all very pumpkin-related.” You jump up onto the bridge’s thick stone railing and walk along it like a balance beam.

“Well, then,” he says, apparently a little surprised that you had no reason to call. You don’t blame him, as you had had his number for a long time and never called, but now you’d called him three times in one day. You are dating now, even though it’s a secret, and you think that warrants knowing what the other is up to. It’s not that strange, is it? You keep walking along the railing, crossing from one side of the bridge to the other.

“What are you doing?” you ask casually.

“Just closing up the patch now,” he says. “What about you?”

“Just on a bridge, contemplating life,” you answer honestly.

“Oh, Dirk… Oh, gosh, Dirk. Where are you exactly? I’ll go there right away!”

“…Jake, do you think I’m suicidal?”

His voice is jumpy like he’s running. “Oh, god, no, man! I’m coming. I’m going there right now. It’s the one at the edge of town, right?”

“Jake, I’m not trying to kill myself,” you say. Shit, are you really so much of a loose canon that mentioning you’re on a bridge causes your friends to think you’re jumping off it? You sit down on the railing and look down, thinking a drop of this height most likely wouldn’t kill you anyway. Also, your balance is too good; your body would never let you give up enough to fall. Never this meaninglessly, anyway.

“Yes, I know!” he says, and it still sounds like he’s running.

“Christ, Jake, stop running,” you say.

It’s in this moment that your phone loses service. You blame the goddamn Disney-looking forest on the other side of the bridge. It’s about 100% certain that Jake’s savior complex is kicking into overdrive right about now. You sigh and try to call him a couple times, but to no avail. You’re about to get up in pursuit of some signal bars when you hear a shout from behind you that shocks you so much that you almost fall off the stone railing to your—well, like you thought earlier, you probably wouldn’t die from this height, so—maiming.

“Dirk, don’t do it!!!!” You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know who it is. But you do anyway. You see a panting Jake English running toward you at full speed, hand out reaching for you like he’s the main character in some awful melodramatic movie. There’s no reaction for this kind of overtly silly misunderstanding, and you’re a little moved that he would run all the way out to this bridge on some birdbrained whim that you might be attempting suicide. He really is dedicated to his friends.

You grab his hand and pull him up onto the railing to sit next to you. “It’s kind of nice here,” you say simply, looking from the woods to the stream to the city.

He looks at you, concern disappearing little by little as he sits on the railing next to you. “So you’re really not trying to kill yourself?” he asks.

“Nope,” you say. But you’re actually glad that he hadn’t trusted you on this one. Not trusting you for your own sake was kind of an endearing quality.

Jake finally looks from you to the view. “You’re darn right it’s nice here!” he says too enthusiastically in response to your earlier comment, probably just glad that you’re alive.

“You hate it, don’t you?” you say.

“Well,” he begins. “Don’t you think it’s a little… dirty?”

You consider his fair criticism of your view, but you also think that the dirtiness is one thing you like about it, so the point is moot. “Thanks,” you say, kicking your legs slowly back and forth over the edge.

“What, for coming here?” he asks.

“No, for not trusting what I told you,” you say. “Even though it was the truth, I’m glad to see you becoming more skeptical of me.”

Jake rolls his eyes at you, putting an arm around your shoulder. “Well, by jove, if this was one of your spectacularly underhanded ‘tests…’”

“It wasn’t,” you say, “But I would like to hear what would have happened if it were. Please continue.”

Jake looks agitated. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, taking his hand off your shoulder and throwing his hands in the air to symbolize his profound level of Strider distaste.

The two of you sit there for a while on the railing of the bridge, and Jake eventually lets his hand rest on your leg.

“So, can I talk to you about something kind of serious?” you start, staring at the stream below and the reflection of the now-setting sun in it. You don’t want to look Jake in the eyes, even through your shades. “I mean, I understand if you don’t want to talk about something serious, if it’ll ruin the mood and all that.”

You’re not looking at him, so you’re not sure what his face looks like, but you’re guessing he’s concerned for you. You hope that there’s a grain of skepticism in his concern, but there probably isn’t. Jake English remains unflappably gullible. Not that you’re joking or being a complete dick in this particular situation.

“Yeah, of course…” comes his response, and his concern’s showing.

“It’s still early in our relationship, and I don’t want to fuck things up by talking about this heavy shit so soon,” you say.

“Oh, just spit it out, you overdramatic buffoon,” Jake says.

“So Dave kicked me out.”

A forced little puff of a laugh escapes Jake’s lips before he realizes that you’re serious. “Your little brother kicked you out of your flat?” he asks, just to clarify.

“Yeah,” you say. “Well, he didn’t kick me out so much as stand up to me and make me feel so guilty that I kicked myself out. Which actually is the same as him kicking me out because I’m sure that he knew the effect of what he was saying. Anyway, he wants space.”

“What sparked this sudden change of heart?” Jake asks, intrigued by your brother. You think he might be a little proud of Dave, too, which probably means something complicated for the relationship between the two of you.

“I apologized to him for everything, and he said that he needs time to consider,” you say.

“I can’t say with certainty that I’m not proud of the little lad,” Jake says.

“Yeah, I’m proud of him, too,” you say, still not looking Jake in the eyes.

“Does he have everything he needs?” asks Jake. Questioning you about whether or not you provided anything for your little brother before leaving is almost too cynical for Jake. Maybe he needs to ride this train to skepticism town a little more slowly before he starts injuring your already broken ego.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Does he have money?” Jake asks. Does he really think you would leave Dave without any money at this point in the story after establishing parts about the apology and the guilt? Maybe taking a small step back in the direction of believing you’re actually a fucking human being would be nice. Your emotions and thoughts are already in Dave’s corner, so it would be nice to have someone actually in your corner for this one. Not that this is a fight. And not that you have any liberty to expect anyone to take your side when you were clearly the one in the wrong here. 

“I left my card there,” you say. “And some other stuff, too.”

“Your card? Do you have any money?” he asks, and you feel a guilty sense of pleasure that his concern is swinging back around to you. You shouldn’t feel good about it because you really don’t deserve it.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you say. “I’m thinking that I should lie low somewhere else tonight and go back tomorrow when he’s at school to clean up the place and see if he needs anything.”

“You can sleep at mine tonight if you need to,” says Jake, and he puts his hand over yours. You guiltily hoard all of his sympathy. It’s not that this was your plan, but… Well, this was the best-case scenario of your plans. The worst involving Jake being disappointed in you and wanting nothing to do with you ever again while convincing your other friends likewise, and the mid-range involving you actually jumping off the bridge. All plans are merely hypothetical until you put them into action, of course.

“I wouldn’t want to—“

“Spare me the polite rejection,” says Jake, flashing you a smile. “If you were going to say ‘intrude,’ then you’re not. If you were going to say ‘be a bother,’ then you’re also gosh darned certainly not!”

“Actually, I was going to stop at ‘I wouldn’t want to,’” you say, and Jake punches your shoulder.

“Douchewad,” he says, grabbing your hand a pulling you from the railing onto the ground.

The two of you start the walk to Jake’s house, and he doesn’t let go of your hand. You’re holding hands in public. Well, in a public place with no people present would be more accurate. You’re taking a way you haven’t been before, and it seems like a shortcut as you wind through backroads and trek down walking paths worn in the grass. These places are new to you, and it doesn’t feel like your city at all. It’s refreshing to see this new side of the place you’d grown up. You guess that people weren’t lying when they said that taking walks was a thing. Or maybe they were just holding hands with the guy they were infatuated with while they were walking, too.


	7. Chapter 7

As you arrive on Jake’s porch, the sun has almost completely set. It’s that perfect time of day where it’s not dark and not light, the most confusing time to wake up from a nap. Everything is hued in dark pink, and your vision is getting a little grainy with the oncoming darkness as everything gains some sense of cinema magic. It’s not often you get a chance to look out over so much land, so much empty space, when you’re in the city. There, light always bends and curves sneakily behind and around buildings, but here it just seems so open and free, no tricks.

Jake’s holding the door open behind you. “Dirk, come here,” he says. You don’t really want to go inside right now, but you follow him into the house. You immediately feel claustrophobic. Jake’s house is spacious, much more so than your dinky apartment, but just the feeling of being inside any kind of home at all is strangely wrong right now. 

“Come on, man!” says Jake from the top of the stairs. You hadn’t been upstairs in his house before, and you’re a little curious as to what’s up there. Probably his room… You reach the top of the stairs just in time to see Jake climbing out a window. What the hell?

You look out the window to see Jake climbing up a rope outside the window. He looks down at you, a huge grin on his face. “You’re slow as a slug today!” he says, finishing his ascent. Against your better judgement, you sit in the windowsill with your head and arms on the outside, grabbing the rope and pulling your legs out of the house as you climb up. You’re decently strong, but you don’t have much experience with climbing ropes because it’s not the fucking medieval times and we have ladders, but you manage to reach the top. 

Jake extends a hand down from the ledge he’s on to you. You grab it, and he helps to pull you up with ease—he’s much stronger than you thought—onto what turns out to be the roof of his house. You notice that the rope you climbed up is tied perilously around the chimney. The roof is slightly angled, but not so much so that it’s dangerous to stand on for people who don’t completely lack coordination. 

“Have you heard of this new invention called the ladder?” you say.

He laughs, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the westward facing part of the roof. "Don't be a stick in the mud!" he says. "Where would the fun be in that?" While, yes, ladders don't exactly say 'intrigue' or 'adventure,' they also don't say 'peril' or 'I could break a leg falling from this height' the same way a rope tied to a chimney did either. That being said, you can envision yourself being pulled along on life-risking romps with Jake, and you're not altogether turned off or upset by the idea.

Jake roughly grabs you by the shoulders and turns you toward the direction he's facing, putting his chin on your shoulder and pointing at something in the distance. You can see his pumpkin patch to the side, a ridge of trees separating his land from the city, and... You take off your shades and clip them to the collar of your shirt so that you can see farther in the twilight. You can see the twinkling city, and you can just make out your apartment building. Because yours is on the top floor, you can even roughly make out the windows of what, given the direction, would most likely be your room. It looks like a pinpoint of light from this distance.

"Jake, have you been stalking me?" you ask, and he claps you on the back hard before sitting down and pulling your hand for you to sit next to him.

"Just like you to ruin the mood, Strider," he says, but his smile doesn't falter. You hadn't realized that there was a mood to be ruined.

The two of you sit in the last remnants of the sun's fading light for a moment, Jake sitting with his legs outstretched and leaning back on his hands that are spread on the singles behind him. You reach one of your hands back to lay on top of his, hoping to restore the 'mood.' Jake shifts his weight in your direction, putting his head on your shoulder. It's heavy, and the arms of his glasses are uncomfortable through your thin shirt. Your heart is beating faster, and you hope your palm isn't sweating onto the back of his hand.

"Thanks," you say for the second time today.

He angles his face toward yours, glasses reflecting the newly risen moon's light. "For what?" he asks.

"Letting me stay at your house. Bringing me here to the roof. Not prying too much into my situation." You can think of a lot of other things, too, but you wouldn't want to go overboard and make him think too highly of himself.

"Oh, that?" he says, looking away from you and back to the city. "Those are just basic things that friends do."

You keep your eyes on the pinprick of light that is your room, so far away, while remaining hyper aware of every inch of you that is touching Jake in the here and now. "Guess I never really had any friends until you guys then," you say.

You guess he's thinking that you don't want to talk about it because he stays quiet for a while. "Are my glasses uncomfortable on your shoulder?" he asks after the lull in your conversation.

"No," you say. You're starting to like the sharpness of them. The sun is completely gone now, but the two of you are still dimly lit by the moon and the orangeish glow of the city. "Also, I wanted to let you know that I'll try to be as honest with you as I can," you say.

"Really? About what?" asked Jake, hair brushing against your face as he gazes up at you curiously.

"Anything you want to know about me," you say. "I know that I'm not usually as open as you and Roxy and Jane, but I'm working on it. I'm working on a lot of things."

"Oh," says Jake, his tone surprised and slightly less lighthearted. “There are a gazillion and three things I would like to know, but I wouldn't want to ask you anything that you're uncomfortable with."

“I’ll let you know if I don’t want to talk about it, but what I’m trying to say is that there isn’t anything off limits…to you.” This is a lame promise. You’re promising to let him be able to ask you anything, but you might still not answer his question, but you’ll try? Shit, this isn’t even a promise at all. Is this your skewed version of being open?

Jake moves his hand away from under yours, and you think he’s fed up with your pretending to be open bullshit, but he then lies down on the roof next to you, putting his hands behind his head. You’re glad that he was just changing his position. He looks up at the smog-swirled sky, only the brightest stars visible. He has a facial reaction to your statement that looks briefly pained, but he doesn’t give any verbal indication as to what he’s feeling. 

The moment passes, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye mischievously. “Planning on joining me any time soon, Mr. Strider?” he asks, referring to the fact that he’s lying down and you’re still sitting up.

“Nah, not planning on it,” you say, gazing out at the city.

And it’s then that you feel a sharp pain in your chest as Jake kicks you—hard. 

You move quickly more out of instinct than anger, and suddenly your fists are balled up in the collar of his shirt, and you’re straddling him. “What gives?” you ask, too aware of your compromising position. Jake looks surprised and then pleased. Too pleased. One of his hands hurtles up to punch you in the arm, and you catch it. 

The maniac is grinning at you. “Dirk,” he begins. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Does it involve more feeble attempts to express your feelings for me through physical violence?”

He looks flustered for all of two seconds. “Yes and no. Would you be up for engaging with me in a bout of fisticuffs?”

“…You want me to fight you?”

“Well, you see, I’ve always liked wrestling and the like, but I seldom get the opportunity to throw down in a good old roughhousing session,” he says, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You consider it. Your secret boyfriend wants you to fight him on the roof of his house. You’re no stranger to sparring on roofs, but fighting with Jake seems a little strange. Well, what the hell. He who asks shall receive. “You might want to take off your glasses,” you say coolly. “…Unless your vision’s too bad without them,” you add, completely uncoolly.

Jake looks delighted, and he squirms out from under you, taking off his glasses. He grabs your shades from where they had been hanging from your shirt and puts both pairs of eyewear on the sidelines. “Well, then, have at it, Strider,” he says. He’s standing about five feet from you. You stand up, brushing the shingle dust off your pants. 

The roof is uneven under your feet, but you think you can manage to balance on it easily, as the slope is not too steep. The roughness of the shingles helps with traction, but it’s going to be a bitch to fall on. For Jake, of course. You’re not planning on falling. Jake looks goofy standing across from you, and his face looks slightly less innocent without his glasses. You sigh, wanting to clear something up before starting.

You hold up two fingers. “How many fingers?” you ask. If he’s just pretending to be tough and really can’t see, this is going to be an even more unfair fight than it already was bound to be.

Jake looks frustrated with you, his eyebrows furrowing and eyes rolling. “Gosh fucking dangit Dirk, it’s two fingers. Let’s get on with it already!”

“You asked for it,” you say, bending your knees slightly to brace for impact.

Predictably, Jake runs at you. You step to the side and put out your arm, clotheslining him. He falls backward onto the singles with a heavy _thud_ and a satisfying ‘oof.’ He stays there for a moment without moving, so you take a step closer to him. You’re not sorry because he literally asked for it, but you hope you didn’t knock the wind out of him. When your eyes drift to his face, Jake is smiling at you. He quickly kicks out, one foot swiftly making contact with the back of your knee. Your knee collides with the shingles, and the tons of tiny shards on their surface sting even through your pants. Jake is standing up before you know it, and you’re on one knee in front of him. 

Hypothesis: Jake is much more cunning when fighting than he is when normally interacting. Time to begin testing.

Not a fan of this position, you try to stand back up, but before you can, Jake lunges at you while you’re still slightly off balance. Jake lands a quick punch to your shoulder, and you brusquely push him away from you, sweeping a leg under his feet to knock him to the ground again. You jump on top of him, punching him in the shoulder twice as hard as he punched you. Jake grabs your upper arm with one hand and your opposite shoulder blade with the other, flipping you quickly under him on your back. You realize that he wanted to be on the ground the whole time. He likes wrestling, for christ’s sake. You should have anticipated this. Wrestling is not your forte, and now you’re in a sticky position. He’s much faster and stronger than Dave, and his formless fighting style is foreign to you.

Jake pins both of your shoulders to the ground and starts counting. “1, 2—“

You quickly tuck your legs into your stomach and kick upwards into Jake’s chest, propelling him up and off of you. You scramble back to your feet, but by the time you do, Jake is already within swinging distance of you. You decide to alter your strategy, making sure to not get Jake on the ground no matter what. You go for a more boxing-centered approach, narrowly dodging Jake’s fist and landing a punch of your own onto his shoulder in the same spot as last time. He winces, but continues to smile through it. You deliver a swift kick to his ribs, and he groans loudly. You pause for a quarter of a second in feigned concern to test your hypothesis.

Jake takes your feigned concern and shoves it in your face, proving your hypothesis correct as he uses the time to kick your right leg. He’s trying to get you off kilter again so you’ll fall and he can have the advantage. He misses a kick to your left leg, and you deliver a roundhouse kick of pain to his shoulder. Jake clutches his shoulder and falls onto his knees hard, then lying out on his back due to his pain. For some reason, the idea of the goofy and lighthearted Jake as this cunning and deceptive fighter is too intriguing, and you want to see it in action again. So you offer a hand to help him up.

As you could have guessed, he grabs it mercilessly, pulling you down on top of him. Your knees and hands scrape against the shingles on either side of Jake as you’re pulled down, and he tries to flip you again, but you throw all of your weight in the opposite direction of his movement. The two of your struggle like this for a while, neither giving up. Jake’s stronger than you could have predicted in a wiry way, and you have to use all of your force and weight to push back.

He suddenly releases all pressure he’s putting on you, and you barely have time to regain your balance with the sudden loss of opposing force. He uses this against you and grabs a fistful of your hair, bringing your head down closer to his face and… Oh, he’s doing that. Fuck. Jake’s lips are soft against yours, and you can’t resist melting into him a little, even though you know that this is a just ploy to win.

You somehow wind up under him again, and he pins your shoulders to the ground. He mutters against your lips, “1, 2, 3,” and then releases himself from you, chilly evening air engulfing your body as he lies next to you, close enough to vaguely feel his radiating body heat.

You lie there for a while, shingles rough against your back and body starting to ache where you’d been hit. “Didn’t expect a stand-up gentleman like Jake English to fight dirty,” you say, a small smile spreading across your face as you look over at him.

Jake turns his head to look at you, grinning broadly back at you. “All’s fair in love and fisticuffs,” he untruly states, and you actually let out a laugh. You don’t know if it’s the catharsis from the fight or the moonlight or the grinning face of the guy you like lying next to you, but your laughter just comes up like some gas bubble that had slowly been traveling to the surface of a tar pit for centuries. A gas bubble that was also probably some dinosaur’s dying breath. You laugh a little harder, and your breath is coming out in harsh puffs because of Jake’s earlier swift kick to your chest. 

When you look back to Jake, he’s staring at you with a mixture of awe and some other emotion. “What?” you ask, laughter fading to a slight shoulder-shaking chuckle.

“Nothing,” says Jake, expression unchanged.

“No, really, what?” you ask.

“You just have a really nice laugh,” he says sincerely, hand reaching out and stroking the side of your face. His hand feels wet, and you realize that it wasn’t his hand that was wet, but your face. You’re crying. Fuck. Jake’s going to leave when he notices how weak you are. You lost a fight, and now you’re crying? He’s probably thinking you’re just a worthless sack of emotional garbage. Worthless as a sparring partner because he knows your weakness, and worthless as even a friend because you’re probably just going to break down in front of him like this and end up making your conversation unbearable or… Yeah, you realize that your thoughts are spiraling in a direction that’s probably unrealistic and unfounded, but you’re not altogether in control right now, and that in itself is probably the biggest nightmare of this situation.

“You’re stronger than I thought,” you say after a short silence. “I think you might have bruised a rib or something.” Physical pain is definitely the reason for your tears.

“I want to hear your laugh more often,” he says, ignoring your comments.

“I’m not sure you will,” you say, looking at him seriously.

“Why?” he asks, eyes curious and a little upset.

“Because you’re just not that fuckin’ funny,” you say.

“Oh shove it up your friggin’ wazoo, you dingleberry,” says Jake. “You know that my boyish charm and quirky, winsome humor are the reasons you like me.”

You wipe any remaining moisture from your face with your palm before rolling over on your side to face Jake, propping up your head with your hand and looking down at him. “That reminds me,” you begin. “Why do you like me? You said that you would answer once you had time to consider it.”

Jake looks a little alarmed at the sight of your face. “Jesus on a cracker, Dirk, why in the world is there blood all over your face?”

You wipe your cheek with a finger to see if it comes back bloody, only to realize that your whole palm is a bloody scraped-up mess. You glance to see that your other palm got the same raw deal. Goddamn shingles. Jake sits up next to you, observing your hands with a mixture of relief that your face isn’t bleeding and horror at the state of your hands. “Let’s go bandage them up,” he says, walking back to the rope and gesturing for you to follow. “Do you think you can make it back in through the window?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine. Might get your precious rope a little bloody, though.” Maybe that’ll convince him to invest in a ladder, though the possibility of that is not very high.

“Rope be darned!” says Jake, swinging expertly back down the rope and in through the window. He waits for you, looking up expectantly.

You know that it’s probably not a good idea to be climbing down a rope and in through a window when your hands are slick with your own blood, but, unless you intend to sleep on the roof, it’s the only method of getting back into the house. You carefully make your way down the rope, trying to put most of your weight into your legs rather than your arms. You slip once, adding rope burn to your shingle-fucked hands’ list of enemies, but soon enough Jake grabs your legs and guides you into the window. Standing on flat ground for the first time in a while gives you the phantom feeling that one of your legs is longer than the other.

Jake unceremoniously guides you into a room and sits you on the bed, leaving to fetch bandages for your hands, you imagine. You look around the room and realize instantly that it’s Jake’s room, and that means that you’re sitting on Jake’s bed. Movie posters line the walls, and there’s a weird collection of skulls in the corner that seem to be staring at you through their eyeless dark sockets. There’s a desk with a computer and a dresser with a gigantic TV on it at the foot of the bed. Just like his living room, DVDs litter the floor and all various horizontal surfaces of the room. In fact, you think you’re probably sitting on one right now.

Jake reenters, med kit that looks like it came out of a video game in hand. He opens it up, retrieving cotton swabs and alcohol first. Oh, fuck. Here comes the pleasant part. Jake dumps alcohol on the swabs and gracelessly takes your hands in his, rubbing your palms not altogether delicately with the alcohol-drenched cotton. You wince but don’t complain. After he finishes disinfecting your wound and making sure that there are no jagged remains of the singles inside, he expertly bandages you up.

He examines the rest of your body, and you examine him, looking at the damage you’d done to each other with your little match. Jake rolls up the sleeve of his short-sleeved shirt to reveal a couple nice, big bruises already forming on his shoulder. Your pants are torn, knees scraped. You have a few bruises around your body as well. You’re not looking, but you can definitely feel them coming.

Jake sits on the bed next to you and slaps a wet towel against your face, harshly rubbing away the blood smeared there. He definitely does not have a gentle touch. After cleaning off your face and giving you a final once-over, Jake decides that you can’t sleep in your now slightly bloodied and torn up clothes.

“You’re going to sully the frig out of my dang bed sheets!” he explains exasperatedly after you say that you don’t want to wear his clothes. He rummages through his drawers and throws some clothes at you, then continuing to look for something that he can wear to sleep. While you’re thinking about where you should go to change your clothes, Jake starts taking off his clothes in front of you.

You turn your back to him quickly, trying not to look. Now you feel even more conflicted. Leaving to change now might be like telling him that you don’t trust him. But staying here and changing doesn’t feel right. “I forgot my shades on the roof,” you say, making a hasty exit and retreating toward the roof to get your shades that had suddenly become the most important things in the world. When you’re about halfway through the window, you feel a warm pair of hands around your midsection pulling you back inside.

“I’ll go,” says Jake, seemingly unsuspecting of the motives behind your sudden interest in your shades. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your hand bandages!”

“Right,” you say as he pushes you to the side and climbs the rope quickly. You rush to his room and try to change into the clothes he gave you as quickly as you can. 

As Jake barges back into the room carrying your shades, you’re just finishing pulling on the shirt. He looks at you, noticing why you’d tried to escape. “You could have told me that you didn’t want to change around me… Oh, god dangit, and here I was changing in front of you like a freakin’ exhibitionist! You probably think that I’m trying to flash my knickers at you like a schoolgirl with her skirt flying up on a blustery day!”

“No, no,” you say. “It’s not that. I’m not in any way opposed to…seeing your knickers, but I didn’t know if you were comfortable with me…viewing you in that way.” You leave out that you were a little uncomfortable changing in front of him and having him see your body for the first time all battered and bruised, a sign of your defeat.

“Oh,” he says. “Of course I’m comfortable with it. We’re both, well you know, dudes. And you’re my friend and my boyfriend.”

It all sounds so simple when he puts it like that, and you wonder what it feels like to not be in a perpetual state of overthinking everything. 

“Anyhoo,” he continues. “I should have been more aware of your possible discomfort.”

“That’s okay,” you say. It’s nice to have Jake acknowledge your emotions so thoroughly and not be oblivious. Though sometimes you’re glad that he’s oblivious to the minutia, as you already have yourself to dissect all of your emotions and thoughts five hundred times over and don’t need someone else doing it on a daily basis. You’re sure that none of this gets through to him by the means of your simple ‘that’s okay.’

“Also… If I may say, you look smashing in that outfit.”

You’d pulled on Jake’s clothes in such a rush that you hadn’t really paid much attention to what they were, but looking down you’re dismayed to see that you’re wearing black shorts, leaving your legs visible. You despise yourself in shorts. You’re also wearing a black t-shirt with a white skull iron-on in the middle of it. You’re sure that these would look great on Jake, but they’re a slightly tight on you. They are, however, very comfortable, and the shorts do grant you more mobility… No, you still hate yourself in shorts. You tried to see the bright side.

You look at Jake, and you realize that he’d retrieved his glasses as well, as he’s now wearing them. He’s also wearing some green and white striped pajamas. The shirt has short sleeves and is button-up, and the bottoms are shorts. His legs are peppered with bruises and small cuts from your skirmish on the roof. The shorts are probably the most obscenely short ones that you’ve ever seen Jake wear, and you’re sure there’s no way he can be wearing underwear under those— You quickly direct your mind onto another track of thought. 

“You, too,” you say, and Jake grins sheepishly.

“My grandma made these for me before she passed. I was a lot smaller then, but I still wear them every night,” he says, then switching the subject to something lighter. “So, want to watch a movie?”

“Sure, your choice,” you say, knowing what movie he will choose and regretting this decision only slightly less than asking to see his guns.

“Aces!” he says, pulling James Cameron’s Avatar out from its disturbing place under his pillow.

“Fuck.”

Jake flashes you a grin and puts the movie in the DVD player, then turning off the light and hopping into bed. Seeing Jake’s bed with him in it, and observing the amount of space left for you, his bed suddenly seems very small. He’s sitting with his back against the wall, legs extended and feet bouncing in expectation of the film. The DVD menu comes on, and Jake presses play from the remote. He tears his eyes off the screen briefly to look at you, gesturing for you to come sit beside him.

You climb into the suddenly too-small bed next to Jake, and you foresee a solid nearly three hours of yourself mentally fixating over the points where your bodies are touching. Along with a side of overanalyzing all of the mistakes you’ve made today and how you could have done better, how you will do better. The movie’s opening scene rolls, and Jake’s putting his head on your shoulder. The now-familiar sharpness of his glasses’ arm stings more than usual against your still-forming bruise, but the pain of it manages to keep you grounded for a while. Until your mind wanders to your big mistakes of the day, mainly obsessing over losing your fight and—

Jake moves his head against your shoulder in a way you feel is intentional. You wince from the pain. He’s looking up at you like he’s figured something out, and you look quizzically back at him. He doesn’t reveal his thoughts to you, instead just turning his head back to the plight of the Na’vi.

From that point on, every time you start to slip back into yourself, Jake pulls you out of it by inducing seemingly accidental physical pain. A move of his head too roughly against your injured shoulder, a misplaced quick knee to your leg, an elbow to your ribs as he switches his position. They all seem like small accidents, but given their timing and frequency, you’re completely sure that he’s purposely doing it to make you pay attention to his moronic movie.

Your attention moves from today’s misgivings to Jake’s annoying ministrations and what should be done with them. Also about what should be done about this movie that you’d agreed to. You’d rather be talking to Jake or really doing about anything else with him in this moment than watching this lengthy film about his blue girlfriend. You mentally take back what you said earlier about letting him choose and movie and take note to never let yourself be swayed by your infatuation with Jake to let your judgement err so gravely again. 

You promptly grab the DVD player’s remote, turn off the power, open the window beside Jake’s bed, and throw it out. You watch as it drops to the ground with a satisfying _crack_. Okay, so this scenario is all in your mind, but it’s still very satisfying. In reality, the movie still drones on dully, Jake watching with rapt attention.

“Jake,” you say. He ignores you.

“Jake,” you repeat. He continues to give his attention solely to the liquid crystals of the screen, eyes wide and face tinged blue. You move your shoulder where his face is perched. “Jake,” you say again, irritation rising.

Jake waves his hand at you like he’s swatting you away and continues watching the movie. You feel isolated, and you hate it. You feel like the movie is more worthy of Jake’s attention than you, and you hate that, too. You seriously consider throwing his DVD player remote out the window. You settle for giving up trying to wrestle for attention with a god damn movie, not because you’re losing, but as a matter of principle. You refuse to compete with a movie for Jake’s affections. 

This is the bullshit you tell yourself as you try to fall asleep as quickly just to spite him and godawful fucking predictable plotline low-immersion unengaging piss-poor excuse for a film. You’re not bitter, and you’re not being passive-aggressive about it. That would be immature. But what’s more immature is not paying attention to a living breathing person in the room who wants to talk to you because of a screen with some blue babes plastered on it. 

Just as you’re about into the deeper realm of your thoughts called sleep, Jake elbows you in the ribs one more time, and you actually do it this time. You turn off the DVD player and throw the fucking remote out the window. The sound of its lifeless corpse hitting the ground is more satisfying than you had imagined.

Jake just looks at you, aghast for a few moments. “Did you just…” he begins, looking from the black screen to you to the window.

“Yes,” you say, the room now very dark except for a little moonlight filtering in through the window. You cross your legs and sit on the bed across from Jake, glancing down at the exaggerated starlit shadows the two of you are casting on the floor. You don’t regret your action, as you feel it was justified, but you do slightly regret letting yourself be so impulsive. If you can call something you considered heavily before actually doing impulsive.

“Do you not like Avatar?” Jake says, taking a bewildered shot in the dark.

“Are you fucking serious?” You know that Jake can be oblivious, but this is just fucking obtuse.

He looks at you, not frustrated that you threw his remote out the window, but just trying to figure out why you did it. “You were bored?” he ventures another guess. 

You realize that to him this just looks like you had thrown his remote control out the window unprompted, but could he really not pick up on anything? The way he was nudging you annoyingly every time you tried to think about things besides blue alien hair sex, the way he was ignoring you, you’re sure it wasn’t just all in your head.

“Are you… perchance jealous of Neytiri?” he asks, glancing from the now black screen to the poster at kissing height on his wall back to you.

“As ironic as me, a real human being, being jealous of a fictional blue alien girl would be, no I’m not fucking jealous of Neytiri,” you say, really still not at all bitter. Though saying that was the only reason you threw the remote out the window would be an oversimplification, you realize that you might be fucking jealous of Neytiri and how she was receiving more attention from Jake than you. Shit, you’re needy. You’re also too glad that operation: chuck remote control out the window is working.

“Okeydoke,” he says, and he looks down at the bed. He’s trying hard to hide the fact that he’s laughing at you, but his shoulders are shaking with mirth.

“Fuck this,” you say. “Neytiri ain’t got shit on me.”

Jake’s poorly stifled laughter erupts into full-blown guffaws at this point, and he lies back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. He sputters out some unintelligible apology to Neytiri on your behalf through his laughter. Both of you are very aware that the butt of this joke is rooted firmly in your neediness. You don’t have an urge to laugh, but you smile just from seeing Jake laugh so hard that he clutches his stomach.

Jake’s laughter eventually fizzles out, and the two of you are left looking at one another and smiling like doofuses. You soak in the moment for a few seconds before lying down next to Jake and turning on your side to face him. He releases his arms to his stomach, lying down on his back and turning his head to face you, hair fluffing up like a black crown on his head due to contact with the pillow. In the dim nighttime illumination, his features look too soft, his eyes glittering too much, and his expression too lovely.

“Dirk,” he says, and you’ve never liked your name more.

“Yeah?” you say.

“You mentioned earlier that I could inquire about some things if I so desired?”

“Yeah, shoot,” you say, and you wonder what kind of things Jake wants to know about you.

He smiles at your choice of expression. “You were born in this city, right? And this is the same place you blossomed into manhood to become the Dirk Strider we all know and love today?”

“Yeah,” you say, wondering where he’s going with this.

“We’re the same age, and there’s only one school in this area, so I suppose I was wondering how we never met before. I mean, that’s where Roxy, Jane, and I met, and it seems highly unlikely that none of us would have caught a glimpse of your indefinably machismo appearance at least once during our schooling.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s because I dropped out after sixth grade.”

Jake analyzes your expression for a second, his eyebrows drawing together as he tries to determine whether or not you’re telling the truth.

“Truthfully,” you add to make the process easier for him. “Jake, I’m not planning on telling you a single lie during the course of this conversation. If I don’t want to answer a question, I’ll just tell you that.”

“Gadzooks,” he says, ruining your moment of sincerity with his silly gibberish.

“That’s when I needed to start taking care of Dave by myself,” you explain.

“Why did you have to raise him from that point on? My apologies if this is too personal of a question,” says Jake, looking a little ashamed for even asking.

“Don’t apologize for asking questions. Like I said, I’ll tell you if I don’t want to answer.”

“Right,” he says, looking a little more comfortable.

“…That being said, the timing of this is really shitty after I just told you to comfortably ask me anything, and I don’t want to discourage you or anything, but the question you ask is actually kind of a loaded one, so maybe we can talk about it later?”

Jake nods into the pillow, looking eagerly at you. “Color me the opposite of discouraged. I am completely and utterly couraged.”

“Encouraged,” you correct quickly. “Actually I have some questions for you, too. If you don’t mind answering them, I mean. I understand if you’re uncomfortable with telling me about stuff.”

“You have questions about me?” he asks, genuinely surprised by that. Jesus, does he think you’re a self-centered douche or something? “I guess I’m just a little shocked that you would be interested at all in my small-scale escapades and rather humdrum past.”

“Of course I’m interested knowing more about you,” you say. You can’t think of a reason why you wouldn’t be. You think that Jake’s view of you skews you to be much more interesting than you really are, making him feel lesser himself. You’re working on viewing the two of you as equals for completely different reasons.

“Right o! Shoot!” he says, looking almost too ‘couraged.’

“What was it like knowing Roxy and Jane in school? You guys must have gotten up to some antics.”

“Antics and shenanigans abounded!” Jake says. “There was one day when we cut class to see a movie together,” he begins. The story continues for a long time as Jake details the day, the weather, the movie they saw, all down to the popcorn. He laughs regularly during his stories, recounting them making him revel in nostalgia. He tells a few more tales about their school days like the time when he and Jane had tried to disguise themselves each other and take one another’s classes and the ensuing detention, Roxy’s birthday party and how Jane had attempted to make her first cake in celebration, and he and Roxy had eaten every last bit even though it tasted terrible, along with a couple other stories. You feel a sense of joy in knowing all of the characters in the stories and somehow having worked your way into their friend group years later.

“I probably was banging on longer than I should have just now,” says Jake, still smiling at the memory of the last story he told.

“No,” you say, retroactively slightly jealous that you couldn’t have been there for such good times. “It would be great to have been there.”

Jake smiles at you, grabbing the hand that you aren’t using to hold up your head and holding it in his over his chest. “Well, you’re here now,” he says, and your heart beats fast for a moment. It must be the dim lighting because everything feels too sentimental.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you say, looking away from Jake’s face and around his room briefly. Jake’s collection of skulls stare eerily back at you. “Have you always lived in this house?”

“Yeah, I have. Ever since I can remember! I told you that I was brought up by my grandma, right? And that this is her house? I honestly don’t even have much of a foggy recollection of my parents, as I was still just a little tyke when they passed in a hot air ballooning accident. I don’t know them, but I think like to think of them as two people who were swept up in the throes of adventure and died doing what they loved alongside one another.” Jake smiles through his imagined description of his parents, squeezing your hand tightly against his chest. You hope that your hand isn’t bleeding on him.

“Damn,” you say. “Hot air ballooning, huh.” It’s the part when the conversation naturally steers itself towards your family, but you cut it off sharply where it is, making your answer seem terse. It doesn’t seem like an appropriate time for that heavy stuff. Maybe later. Really, you do want to tell him about it, but not right now.

In a moment of slight mutual discomfort at the finality of your statement, Jake kisses you. You’re beginning to feel like kissing you is his defense mechanism, and it is certainly an effective one. He pulls you closer to him, and you rather painfully position yourself on top of him, propping yourself up on your hands and knees as you try not to make any contact with any of the bruises you gave him. Jake puts his arms around your neck, drawing you closer still. You’re very aware of the fact that you’re both wearing shorts and your bare legs are touching.

The more you analyze it, the more uncomfortable this kiss is getting. Your first kiss had been normal, but every one since that point had been for some purpose, whether that was to make you weak while fighting or to because you abruptly ended your conversation. Shit. You don’t want to stop, but the motivations behind his seem fucked up.

You pull your face away from Jake’s, still on your hands and knees over him. “Jake, you can’t just kiss me every time you want something or feel uncomfortable,” you say bluntly.

Jake looks up at you, an uneasy look on his face. He lets his arms drop from their place around your neck slowly. “…I know, I’m sorry,” he says, looking away from you.

“Do I make you that uncomfortable?” you say, not just the places where Jake hit you feeling a little hurt. You know that your personality is at its best hard to deal with, but you’d kind of hoped that Jake maybe didn’t feel like that…at least not all the time. You remove your arms and legs from Jake’s sides, moving to lie on your back next to him. You look at the ceiling, feeling like he might not be honest on this topic if you look at his face.

Jake raises onto his elbows and looks at you, surprised by your reaction. “What? No, no, no. That’s not it at all!”

You meet eyes with him again, keeping your expression neutral, and he continues. “I just… The first time when we were fighting, I just got wrapped up in the excitement of the moment. I’ve never really been challenged by someone before, and it was a phenomenal experience! My competitive side drove me to use some rather unsavory methods to win when I felt like you had the upper hand. And just now, I knew that you probably didn’t want to bring up your past at great length, so I was trying to nip that conversation in the bud before it fully came to be.”

God damnit. Leave it to Jake to have goodhearted intentions and for you to make a mess of those by dragging your own problems into it. Not considering all angles was stupid, and your thought process had been flawed due to your own misgivings about yourself.

“I see,” you say.

“I was being a friggin’ chump, and I promise all forthcoming romantic advances will be made with absolutely zero provocation! Also our next spar, should you choose to engage with me again after my massive douchebaggery, will be a fair one!”

You hold out your fist, and he dutifully bumps it with his own. “You got it,” you say, and you hope that it’ll be soon.

Jake glances away from you and at the clock. “Jiminy christmas, it’s about time we get some shuteye!” he says. “I have to tend to the pumpkins first thing tomorrow.”

“I guess after tomorrow, it’ll get a lot easier, huh?” you ask, as the ‘tomorrow’ in question happens to be October 31st.

“I sure hope so,” says Jake, grabbing the blanket and lying on his side facing you.

“Should I sleep in the guest room, or…“

“I’d prefer if you’d sleep here… If you wouldn’t mind. Only because the guest room doesn’t actually have a bed,” Jake says, red color rising in his cheeks visible even in the low light. He pulls the blanket ridiculously up around his ears and the lower part of his face, obviously very serious about sleeping right now.

You let him have all the blanket, as you don’t usually sleep under blankets. You keep lying on your back, looking up at the ceiling again. It’s your first time sleeping together with another person in a bed. Even when you had only one crappy couch, you would still always give it to Dave and Cal and sleep on the floor alone. You wonder if he did this with Jane, and then you hastily force that thought down into a dark corner.

“‘Night, then,” you say.

“Goodnight, Dirk,” says Jake, briefly lowering his blanket to give you a hesitant kiss on the cheek. A kiss without any ulterior motives. He turns away from you quickly after, pulling the blanket up cocoonlike to obscure the back of his head and whole body. You lie on your back in the dark for a while, just comfortably feeling the presence of Jake next to you. His breathing gets slower and heavier, and you look over to see the rise and fall of his body under the thick blanket. You smile to yourself and let your thoughts wash over you as you fall asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

You come back to consciousness to the sound of Jake’s phone alarm, and you feel something weirdly soft around you and under you. Pain and stiffness from yesterday’s sparring are more obvious today. You open your eyes to see that Jake is very close to you. His arms are around you, his legs tangled with yours in the blanket that you’d somehow gotten wrapped up in. Jake opens his sleep-filled eyes and looks at your light brown ones, hugging you tighter before letting go to locate and turn off his phone alarm. Silence fills the room, and it’s just the two of you, on, around, and under each other, skin on skin, blanket covering the scene.

“Hey,” you say, and Jake smiles lazily at you.

“I gotta go,” he says, stretching his arms up and yawning. His body slowly unravels the knot that the two of you had formed, and you don’t want to be apart from him. You quickly press your mouth against his as he’s mid-stretch, and his body goes limp from your gesture, his surprise evident as a small gasp escapes against your lips. It’s the first time you’ve really initiated any physical affection toward Jake, and he smiles into the kiss, putting his arms around your waist and pulling you on top of him in a more sincere version of your kiss last night.

You’re not on your hands and knees this time, not hovering above him or trying to avoid hurting him. Your body is pressed flush against his, and you can feel your body temperature rising. Between kisses, you chance a glimpse at Jake’s face, tanned skin radiant in the glow of the morning sun, hair matted messily from a night of sleep.

Jake’s hands move from your waist to your chest, and he pushes you up slightly, separating your lips and bodies. “I really have to go,” he says.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, rolling off of him in defeat. You really should go check on the house and see if Dave needs anything while he’s away at school, but you also don’t want to be away from Jake.

“You can stay here tonight, too, if you need to,” he says, shuffling over you to get out of bed. He rifles through his drawers, looking for something to wear, and finally settling on a white collared shirt, olive-green sweater, and black shorts. He looks back at you, and you look quickly out the window.

“I don’t mind if you… I mean, if you’re… I can go to another room.”

Jake makes for the door. “No, don’t,” you say, turning back to face him. You’re completely comfortable with him changing in front of you. It’s totally not a big deal, and you’re going to show him how much it is not a big deal. You don’t really want to show your bruises, to revive the memory of you being weak and losing, but you also don’t want Jake to be uncomfortable around you anymore. You quickly jump out of bed, grabbing the bottom hem of Jake’s shirt that you had been wearing and pulling it over your head and throwing it on the ground, making a point: ‘I’m comfortable as shit around you.’

Jake smiles at your display, his eyes lingering for a couple seconds on your bare stomach before traveling the embarrassing distance to meet your eyes. A faint blush rises in his cheeks. “If you’re not comfortable changing around me, it’s really fine…” he says.

“No, I’m completely comfortable. Who’s uncomfortable?” you say, not making an attempt to put on your shirt to show how acclimated you are to other people including Jake viewing your spectacular body.

“You don’t have to force yourself to do this…” Jake says.

“Who’s forcing anyone?” you say. “Just change already.”

Jake hesitantly puts his new clothes on the bed, taking off the shirt he slept in. His voice is slightly muffled as he pulls the shirt over his head. “It’s just that yesterday, you made me go to the roof to avoid me seeing you changing, so pardon me for misconstruing that as you being uncomfortable,” he says. He grabs his new shirt from the bed and tugs it on.

You try your best not to study the curve of his spine or the bruises dotting his shoulders—the ones you gave him. His dark skin doesn’t show them as vibrantly as yours, but they’re still apparent. Your gaze lingers for too long on the place where his waist curves inward from the rest of his body, and you pry your eyes away to your shirt, feeling guilty for looking. It feels like you’re betraying the trust he put in you. 

You pull on your shirt from the previous day, and you can feel a pair of eyes on you. When your head is halfway through the hole, you peer over the top of it to see Jake glance over his shoulder at you. You smile inwardly and pull on your shirt the rest of the way slowly. Jake notices that you can see him and turns his head quickly back away from you.

The two of you keep up the awkward glance tango as you finish changing, but Jake’s expression is serious when you turn to face each other again. “You can’t wear those old rags!” he says, eyeing your pants disapprovingly. You look down to your pants to see that the knees are ripped so severely from the previous night's scuffle that the part of the bottom half of the legs seem to be hanging on by threads and about to fall apart. Jake continues. “For one, those pants are about to fall apart. Secondly, it’s much too nippy outside today for a t-shirt.”

Glancing to the window and seeing a little frost accumulated in the corner; you guess he’s right. “So, what do you recommend?” you ask.

Jake studies the pants and the shirt for a moment. He briefly leaves the room and returns with some scissors. Before consulting you, he chops off the bottom part of your pants under the knee, leaving them as long shorts. He takes a step back to examine his work and gives you a thumbs up. “Much better,” he says.

“Jake, what the fuck,” you say, looking down at your black-jeans-turned-Bermuda-shorts.

“Well they very well would have fallen off sooner or later!” he says, defending his actions. “And it looks much more intentional like this.”

“Jake, I can’t go outside wearing shorts,” you say.

“I seem to recall you racing over here dressed in pink pajamas, so I’d reckon that this is a vast improvement!” he says, stifling a laugh as he throws a black thermal sweater at you. “Wear this to keep warm! You can wear shorts when it’s chilly, as long as you keep your core temperature up.”

You sigh, and Jake leaves the room. “Going to make breakfast now!” he says brightly, and you hear him going down the stairs, leaving you alone in his room. You take your t-shirt off, putting the thermal on and then the t-shirt back on top of it for a layered look. Upon looking in the mirror in Jake’s room, it’s not actually as bad as you originally thought. You flip your head upside down to get some volume in your hair and poke and prod at it until it obeys you. The leftover product from yesterday is still hanging on with the last of its life, and your hair bends to your will. You grab your shades from the dresser where Jake had put them and head down stairs after him.

He’s already in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, and he stops when he sees you come down the stairs. “You look fantastic!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “You should wear shorts more often; they really suit you.”

“I know,” you say. “I used to wear shorts all the time before I met you. When we met, I noticed that shorts were your thing, and I didn’t want my hot calves stealing the spotlight from you. These fuckin’ calves could break boards they’re so strong.”

Jake snorts. “It would be my pleasure to get to see the legendary Strider calves in action some day,” he says as he hurriedly finishes off his cereal.

“It would be the last thing you ever did,” you say, and Jake is standing up and ready to leave already. Why is he leaving so quickly? You know it’s Halloween at a pumpkin patch, so it’s probably a pretty big day for him, but you still irrationally want him to stay with you. You hope your desperation isn’t showing.

“There’s cereal in the cabinet, other food’s in the refrigerator. Help yourself to anything, but lock the door before you leave. The key’s under the mat,” he says, rinsing out his bowl and rushing to the door. “I’ll call you later,” he says.

“Under the mat is a terrible place for a key,” you say.

“Bye!” he says, ignoring your comment and flashing you one more smile before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

You have a strange urge to explore Jake’s empty house, but you really should get going to your house soon. You decide to eat there instead of here, and you check your pockets. Sure you have your phone and small wad of cash, you walk over to the front door, slipping on your shoes before leaving.

You flip the doormat over with your foot and grab the key from under it, locking the door and taking the key with you. Under the doormat is a dangerously insecure place to put something as important as the key to your house. Not to mention the first place everyone looks. No, you think your pocket is a much safer location for a key. And that’s where this key will live, at least until Jake notices it’s gone. You consider staging a break in to teach him a lesson about where not to leave his keys... But not now. Maybe later.

You put the doormat neatly back in its place before setting off toward your apartment, regretful you didn’t have the forethought to bring your skateboard with you. You suppose you couldn’t have assumed with complete clarity that Jake would think you were committing suicide and come to rescue you, letting you spend the night at his house, but you still feel like you probably should have. You’re really not living up to your standard of yourself in the fields of forethought and preparation, and you could do better.

As you’re walking down the gravel road, you notice many cars pulling up to the pumpkin patch, and you wonder if Jake needs any help. You decide that you should call him to ask as soon as you’re done with what you need to do.

You stop at the grocery store on your way to the apartment, picking out simple things for Dave to make like mac and cheese, pop tarts, frozen pizza, the usual. Checkout takes a toll on your dwindling cash funds, but now isn’t the time to worry about yourself. You take the bags home, surprised to see the house as clean as it is when you open the front door.

It looks the same as you left it, except that the door to your room is closed now, even though you had left it open. Your note and menus are where you left them on the coffee table, but your card is gone. You start unloading the groceries in the kitchen, and you hear a sound behind you. The door to your room creaks open slowly, and a shades-clad head peeks around the corner at you.

“Bro, what the hell are you doing?” the head asks.

“Just putting away some groceries, man,” you say. “Also, why are you not in school?”

“Groceries?” says Dave, the word sounding like a foreign language coming out of his mouth. He looks a little pained at your second question, but he comes out of your room, looking relieved that you weren’t upset at him for being in there in the first place. “No reason,” he says.

“Alright then,” you say, turning back to the task at hand and giving him the space that he told you he needed. 

“Are you wearing shorts?” he asks with distaste, and you can hear him coming closer to you.

“Nah,” you say. “They’re just short jeans.” You finish putting away the groceries and face him again.

He’s examining your ‘short jeans’ closely, looking at you skeptically. “Sure,” he says, and you can see him holding back from saying a lot more on this subject. “Are you going to leave again now?”

“Do you want me to leave again now?” you ask.

Dave seriously considers your question for a moment. “Yeah, I think so,” he says, but he sounds much less sure of himself than he was the previous night when he asked you to give him space.

“Alright,” you say, making your way across the room and putting your shoes on, noticing that your skateboard is missing. You don’t mention it, sure that your little brother is practicing with it, but you do grab your sword instead.

“Bro,” he says before you leave.

“Yeah?” you say, turning back to face him.

“Maybe you could come back tomorrow and we could talk again,” he says, looking at the ground.

“No problem,” you say, turning to the door and leaving. You let out a sigh as you close the door behind you. You pull out your phone and call Jake. He doesn’t answer. Fuck, you realize that you hadn’t gotten any new clothes to wear, and it’s too cold outside with only this thin thermal. Before going back to the pumpkin patch, you stop by a thrift shop to get the cheapest sweater you can find so that you don’t freeze to death. It’s a bargain at two dollars, and best of all, it’s pretty ironic. You pull it on over what you’re currently wearing and start the long walk back to Jake’s, sword slung around your back like a backpack and sweater keeping you toasty as hell.

As you’re crunching your way along the gravel path, you can see a speck on a decrepit tractor in the distance that is Jake English. He’s driving a tractor with several kids riding in a hay-filled open trailer on the back. The kids are screaming at him to go faster, and he’s clumsily operating the controls to get the machine to do what he wants. You watch for a while from behind a tall pile hay. Jake is obviously struggling with the tractor, but he keeps a smile on his face for the kids and their parents as he drives them around a few times. You can see him sigh with relief when it’s over, and parents give him money as the kids run around picking out only the best and biggest pumpkins greedily for themselves.

You try calling again, watching to see if Jake picks up now that you know he’s not driving a tractor. You see him fish his phone out of his pocket and hold it to his face, angling himself so the kids and parents can’t see.

“Dirk, what’s up?” he says, and your heart races as you see him smiling at the phone like an idiot.

“Hey,” you say. “Need any help canoodling the pumpkins?”

“No, I’ve got it all under control on this end!” he says.

“Do you even have a license to drive that tractor?” you ask.

“How did you—“

You walk out from behind the hay and wave your arm at Jake. He quickly runs over you and is about to hug you when he remembers that you’re in public and stops short. He looks down at your sweater, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Merry…Christmas? Why in heaven’s sake are you wearing a Christmas sweater on Halloween? This is one of those ironic things, isn’t it?”

“Maybe my costume is ‘disgruntled parent taking a vacation to Bermuda on Christmas,’” you say, gesturing to your shorts.

Jake looks at you with a little more resolve. “Yes,” he says. “That’s what you can tell the kids and parents as you help them pick out their pumpkins.”

“Alright, what duties does my new job entail?” you ask.

He’s all business now. “Number one, you need to help them pick out pumpkins. Weigh the ones they like and charge them based on the amount written on the notepad next to the scale. Number two, you need to man the hay maze. If any kids get lost inside, help them out.”

“Okay,” you say. “Anything else?”

“That’s about it,” he says. “Well, chop chop!” And Jake’s jogging back to the tractor, ready to take more screaming little kids on a joyride. The shit he does for these kids.

You make your way over to the main part of the pumpkin patch, watching some families struggling over the agonizing decision of which pumpkin to choose. When they ask you about which one would be better, your stock response is, “Go big or go home.” Convinces them every time. You’re starting to think that you’re pretty good at this salesman stuff. I mean, if you can sell a pumpkin on Halloween while wearing a Christmas sweater, is there really anything you can’t sell?

You make your rounds in the hay maze, watching kids run around and bump into each other, and you make it a new part of your job to pry them off the walls when they try to climb up. A few of them get lost, and you quietly just tell them that if they can’t find their way out, they’ll never see their moms again. They find their way out pretty quickly after that. You tell the ones who cry that the monster who lives in the maze can smell tears. That works pretty well, too. You just flash your katana at the rude ones. Working at a pumpkin patch might be your calling.

Before you know it, it’s evening, and the the pumpkins seem to glow in the golden light of the setting sun. Jake gives his last tractor ride, and the last visitors have left, leaving only the two of you in the expansive field. Jake jogs over to you, this time jumping and hugging you. He spins the two of you around once and places a kiss on your cheek before letting go. “Dirk! You did brilliantly! This was the highest turnout we’ve had in years!” he says, grinning at you.

“I don’t think that there’s any way I could have been responsible for the turnout, but it’s no problem,” you say.

Jake looks you in the eyes, his bronze-colored skin looking like it belongs in the golden light. His green eyes shine, and his innocent glee is unnerving. He really should be more skeptical; for all he knows, you were just working here today to get something out of it… Or maybe he really does know you. He leans in to kiss you, but the moment is interrupted by a happy shout not unlike those of the kids from earlier.

“Diiiiiiiiiirk!! Jaaaaaake!!!” Jake pulls away from you quickly like you’re made of fucking needles. He turns to face the incoming Lalonde, and you can feel him bristle in surprise beside you. You know that you’re both wondering how much she saw.

When you turn to face her, Jane is there, too. Shit.

“Hello, mates!” Jake says words coming out awkwardly, posture stiff.

Judging by the lack of shock on Roxy or Jane’s faces, you guess that they hadn’t seen you and your secret boyfriend almost kissing as they arrived.

“We thought that today would be a good day to come,” says Jane, smiling. “Were you super busy today? I see you had Dirk here to help you!”

“So this is where you were!” says Roxy. “We tried to call you like five million times, but you weren’t answerin’.”

Jake mutters something strangely, still a little dazed by almost getting caught, and you elbow him in the ribs hard to help him get a grip. “Yeah, just forcing people to choose the biggest pumpkin and scaring kids into finishing the hay maze. No big deal. Super busy though,” you say. You glance at your phone and see the missed calls, a little disappointed in yourself if you made Roxy feel even one fourth as awful as you felt when you thought like Jake was ignoring you.

Jake finally gets over his malfunctioning robot act and rubs his ribs, giving you an irritated glance. “Yeah, super busy,” he repeats.

“Are you wearing shorts and a Christmas sweater?” asks Jane suspiciously.

“Jake told me that this was the dress code,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought it was pretty strange, too.” This time Jake is the one elbowing you in the ribs. 

He smiles at the girls and wraps an arm around each of their shoulders, guiding them to his house. “Let’s get inside, then!” he says. “I’ve been freezing my knickers off all day!”

You look critically on at the scene in front of you—Jake with a girl on either arm—and walk a little faster to catch up with them. Goddamn it, Jake. Roxy grins at you and sneaks her arm around your waist, pulling you into the line of friends.

When you enter Jake’s house, Roxy flops down on the couch, pulling Jane next to her. The two of them look comfortable in Jake’s house, and you suppose that they’ve both been here before many times, as they’ve known him since they were all in school together. You’re a little jealous of the ease of their friendship. Jake and you shuffle a few misplaced DVDs out of the way to make a place to sit on the rug in front of them so that you can all see each other. 

“So, guys,” starts Roxy. “It’s Halloween, right? We should do somethin’ fun! Like a game or something like that.”

Jane looks a little skeptical. “What kind of game? You mean like hide and seek?”

“No, no, Janey!… Well, I mean, maybe, if you’re into that. Like reliving our childhood or something; I know you like that kind of nostalgic stuff, but I mean a different game!”

“Like spin the bottle?” asks Jake, wiggling an eyebrow.

Jane shoots him a look. “No,” she says firmly. You feel irritated at his suggestion, even though you’re 80% sure that it was a joke.

“Like… truth or dare!!” says Roxy dramatically, laughing when she sees everyone’s faces of discomfort. “Come on, guys,” she says. “It’ll be fun! Air out our dirty laundry or something like that.”

“Hell no,” you say. “Truth or dare is just a game people play in poorly-written movies when they can’t think of anything to say or have a conversation like normal fucking people. If we’re going to play games from bad nineties coming of age comedies, it might as well be strip poker, for fuck’s sake.”

Roxy looks like she’s considering your idea.

“My point being,” you continue before she can seriously think about strip poker. “That we shouldn’t play any games that could be found in the encyclopedia for W under ‘worst games ever invented’ and we should just talk like human beings. If you have some burning question, just ask it and expect an honest answer without the pretext of a stupid game.”

“But then there wouldn’t be any dares,” she says.

“She has a point,” says Jane, giggling at how little Roxy got out of your rant. Or at how upset you seemed over the suggestion to play a game. Or both.

You look to Jake for support, but he’s just laughing along with Jane at the two of you.

“So… truth or dare’s on then?” asks Roxy, shrugging and looking around the room for any additional objections. You put your head in your hands miserably, and Jake and Jane are of no help whatsoever.

You guess it’s time for the world’s lamest excuse for a game, so help you.


	9. Chapter 9

“Janey, since you supported me in my noble quest for this game, you can start,” says Roxy, smiling at Jane and crossing her legs comfortably on the couch, leaning against its arm.

“Oh, well thank you madam,” says Jane. “Don’t mind if I do!” She surveys the players in the room, taking her pick as she leans her back into the couch to get comfortable. “Roxy!” she says suddenly. “Truth or dare?”

“Oooh, choosing me first?? Wow, what an honor,” says Roxy, grinning. “I pick dare!”

Jane thinks for a moment. “I dare you to sing the Happy Birthday song like Marylin Monroe.”

“Ahhh Janey, you did me dirty! You know I hate the happy b-day song, but I love me some Marilyn, so I’m a little conflicted… Guess I gotta do it anyways, here goes!” Roxy proceeds to sing, and the next few truths and dares continue innocently in this fashion. Until the game starts to drift to topics of love, dating, and things that people really want to know about but no one wants to share. This is the part that you hate the most because it’s like a forced sharing of secrets with the express purpose of making the atmosphere awkward and potentially embarrassing others. Curiosity is a natural human emotion, but using a game as an impetus for exposing truths that you want to know is just fucking lame. You answer questions or do dares when people ask to satisfy them, but you boycott the idea of asking questions or making your own dares for other people, so Roxy eagerly takes your turn every time.

She’s also the first one to ask a question about dating. “Jane,” she begins. “You said you don’t _like_ like that guy in your class, but you really do, don’t you?”

Jane looks a little embarrassed to be answering this question in front of Jake, but tries to keep her voice confident as she responds. “I do,” she says, probably more quietly than she intended. Roxy’s look says, ‘I knew it!’ Jane waits until she thinks no one is looking to glance at Jake’s reaction, but you’re looking. At both of them. And it’s awkward as hell.

It’s Jane’s turn. “Jake,” she ventures.

“Truth,” he says.

“Is there anyone you’re interested in right now?”

Your heart drops, and you’re pretty sure he’s feeling similarly. Jake does that thing where he comically and exaggeratedly pretends to loosens his collar because he’s nervous. The one where he pretends like he’s pretending to be nervous, but he is actually nervous. “I suppose there is,” he says. There’s a small moment of silence, and hurt flashes ever-so briefly across Jane’s face.

“Jake, it’s your turn!” says Roxy.

“Right,” says Jake. “Uh… Dirk!”

“Truth.”

"Are you romantically interested in anyone right now?”

What the fuck, Jake. Is he actually trying to test that you’re interested in him by using a game? Does he not think you really like him? Or is he just trying to cover up the fact that it’s you that he’s interested in? “Yeah,” you answer shortly. “And I forfeit my turn as always.”

Roxy looks interested in your answer, jumping on the chance to take your turn as usual. “Dirk,” she begins. 

“Can’t ask the same person twice in a row,” you say.

“Fine,” says Roxy. “Jake.”

“Truth…?”

“What’s the _worst_ thing about the gal you’re crushin’ on?” asks Roxy, possibly for Jane’s benefit.

“Oh, uh…” Jake hesitates, very deliberately not looking at you. “I guess it’s that she tends to overthink everything. And that sometimes she isn’t very straightforward.”

Roxy laughs at your description. “Sounds like Dirk,” she says, and Jake looks at you hopelessly as if Roxy’s figured it out and there’s nowhere else to hide. You, on the other hand are very sure that Roxy has nothing figured out and was just making a joke.

“Thanks, Rox,” you say dryly. “Are we using this game as a reason to point out everyone’s flaws and insecurities now? Told you I hate this game.”

Jane rolls her eyes at you and steps in. “You already know those things about yourself, Dirk,” she says. “They’re not even really flaws! They’re just… your character traits.” She smiles at you like her words have the power to console you.

Jake is still just looking at you, and you kick his leg under the coffee table. “I forfeit my turn,” he says weakly without thinking. Roxy grins, taking the missed turn. Shit.

“Dirk,” she says.

“Dare,” you say, not wanting to do truth right after Jake.

“Oooh!” says Roxy. “Hmmm… Lemme talk to Jane.”

Roxy turns to Jane, and they whisper for a few moments, and then she looks back to you.

“Dirk,” she says, grinning. “I dare you to take off your sunnies.”

“Fine, whatever,” you say, taking them off unceremoniously and clipping them to the neck of your sweater. It’s really not as big a deal as they’re making it out to be.

Jane and Roxy stare wide-eyed and inch closer, scrutinizing your shadeless face. 

“You look so…”

“It’s…”

“Your eyes are light brown.”

They mutter these things like they’re looking at a rare piece art, and then they lean back against the couch simultaneously, apparently having taken in enough. They nod gravely at each other like something has been confirmed.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” they say.

“Roxy, it’s your turn,” says Jane, smile returning to her face.

“Jane!!” she says dramatically.

“Truth.”

“What’s the _best_ thing about the guy you like?” she asks, grinning.

“Oh,” she says, a little taken off guard by the question. “Well, I’m not that close to him yet, but he’s charming, he has dashing good looks, and he has a lot of the same interests as me.”

“Wow whatta man,” says Roxy. Neither of them are looking at Jake, but it’s clear where this is directed. The fact that this is supposed to take him down a peg flies at quite a considerable distance over Jake’s head.

Jane’s turn. You hope this game is over soon.

Roxy looks at Jane curiously, getting more interested in her potential boyfriend than the game itself. "Anything else?"she asks, and like that the game is finally over. Maybe rather than an attempt to pry secrets out of people, the game had just been a way for Roxy to find a topic of conversation that she liked.

"Well," Jane continues, "We've talked a few times, but not much more than that." Jane casts a sheepish glance to Jake, not wanting to hurt him, but he’s obliviously happy for her.

"Oh, Janey! I'm so happy for you!! I guess everyone here has someone they like like then... And I want to know more about all of 'em! I want to meet them!"

Everyone purposely avoids asking Roxy who she's interested in. It's a topic all of you tend to steer clear of besides Roxy herself. You suppose that Jane doesn't know about your orientation unless Roxy told her, but she is very aware of the fact that you aren't interested in Roxy romantically.

She turns dramatically to Jake. "What about your lady?? Where did you meet?" she asks.

"In a bar," he says without thinking.

"Jakey went to a bar by himself in the pursuit of romance, huh?" she asks, as they hadn't seen Jake at a bar with any girls, and they usually all went together.

"No," he says. "Dirk was there. Weren't you, Dirk?"

"Yeah," you say. "She's super hot. She was the hottest girl in the bar, and he fell for her so hard that it was kind of embarrassing."

Jake realizes what you're doing and kicks your leg under the table. "Yes, I suppose so," he says. "But she was pretty much sweating and acting positively uncool around me from the moment we met, so it was obvious that she liked me from the get go."

"Really?" you say. "I didn't see any sweating involved from my end. She just looked hella bangin' to me."

Jane and Roxy watch the two of you continue to go back and forth over the meeting of Jake's fictional girlfriend, and Roxy seems a little more puzzled than Jane about the kinds of words you're using to describe what is apparently a female. Jake looks a little flustered and stands up. "Does anyone want anything to drink?" he says, smile forced to hide his real intention of just getting out of the room for a while.

He takes everyone's orders and hightails it out of there, heading to the kitchen to fetch some non-alcoholic drinks.

"Don't know what's up with him," you say when Roxy and Jane give you a look. "Anyways, Roxy, how long have you been sober now? It's actually pretty fuckin' awesome to see you like this. I don't think I've seen you drink in a month."

Jane smiles and puts her arm on Roxy's shoulders and Roxy's confusion drops instantly as she smiles, too. Completely unlike you, she's not one to want to brag about anything she's accomplished, so she looks probably the closest to 'shy' you've ever seen Roxy look. "Yeah," she says. "I guess a month's about right. It's really not a big deal, though, I mean you guys are sober like every day, so a month is like not even that long. And you guys really helped me through it like talking to me and stuff... so thanks."

You and Jane both give her a smile, and Jake comes in, having heard the news from the kitchen. He gives Roxy a big hug and forgets about your drinks that he may or may not have been actually getting. All of you revel in the happiness of the moment for a while, smiling at each other in how genuinely proud you all are of Roxy, and she blushes.

"Geez, guys, you're making me all sappy," she says, standing up and giving all of you a hug in an action that becomes a big group hug. You all stay in the hug for a while, eventually releasing it and all squeezing onto the sofa together.

You're squished between Jake and Roxy, her head on your shoulder and his hand on your leg. Jane has her arm around Roxy's shoulder, and Roxy pulls out her phone and snaps a quick shot of all of you together, laughing at the way all of you blink the flash out of your eyes. "Hehehee surprise!" she says, and Jane grabs the phone out of her hands to check it before it inevitably gets posted to social media somewhere. Nodding in approval, she gives it back.

The four of you chat and banter about social media, articles you've seen recently, other peoples' love lives, and the conversation flows naturally. Even the dialogue between Jake and Jane feels more comfortable now that it's in the open that they’re both interested in other people.

After a while of comfortable conversation, there's a slight lull as people look at the clock and their minds drift to going home. Jake suggests that everyone stay at his house for tonight, and of course Roxy jumps at the idea of a 'sleepover!'

"So what are the sleeping arrangements looking like?" asks Jane, going along with the plan but not quite sharing Roxy's enthusiasm.

"Well, ladies get the bed...as usual," says Jake, looking a little less than gentlemanly about giving up his bed. You figure that this is probably a war that has been waged through years of sleepovers, and that Jake, being the only guy, has probably lost every time.

Roxy high fives Jane, and the two of them just laugh. You're sure that you understand the context, but you can't help feeling a little left out.

"Usually Jake takes the couch," explains Jane. "But then where should Dirk sleep?"

"I'll sleep on the floor," you volunteer. You actually enjoy sleeping on the floor, as you'd done it for years when Dave was younger. You'd always been afraid that you would smother him accidentally in his sleep or something and let him sleep with Cal on the couch while you slept on the floor.

"No," says Jake. "I couldn't let my guest sleep on the floor."

"It's really no problem," you say, and Jake looks like he's considering it.

"Jake!" says Jane, hitting him in the shoulder. He winces, and you're the only one who knows why. You feel some satisfaction with that. They have their secrets and inside jokes, but you guess that every pair of you share your own secrets and jokes. It's really not you and them, but a group with four people who all have distinct personalities and get along well despite whether they met each other earlier or later.

Jake smiles weakly. "Kidding, of course... Dirk, you take the couch." You give each other a knowing look, indicating that you will probably be sleeping on the floor, and the girls just sigh at the two of you.

"Whatever, Jake. I gave up on making you a gentleman a long time ago," says Jane, laughing but actually looking a little frustrated.

Roxy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this part of the conversation, has pulled a book out of her bag. She's skimming through it intently. Just now noticing, the three of you gather around her to see what kind of book has Roxy's full attention.

Upon closer inspection, it's a year book. She flips through furiously until she finds Jane and Jake, showing you their pictures that she'd circled with hearts big enough to cover the face of the others around them. She points out Jake first, triumphant that she found him. "Feast your eyes, Dirk!" she says, giggling. "I figured that maybe you could kind of feel like you were friends with us then, too, if you saw our pictures."

Jake just puts his head in his hands as a twelve-year-old version of himself stares back at him. "I guess we were a close age as your little bro and my little sis in these pictures," Roxy continues, looking down at the page fondly and then to you for your reaction. She points out Jane and herself, too. They were all in the same class.

You smile at the sentiment and look at their pictures. Jake has glasses that are too big on his face, and his hair is cut short. He's wearing a collared shirt, and he looks eager to get his picture taken. Roxy has long blond hair parted in the middle and a bright pink top. She's smiling her big smile, and you can see her personality shining through her eyes. Jane's hair is also a little longer, shoulder length, and she looks a little uncomfortable with getting her picture taken. Her cheeks are bright pink, and you later learn that Roxy had attempted makeup on her for the first time before they took this photo.

"Wait..." says Jake, remembering something. "Pardon me if I'm wrong, but Dirk..."

Shit. You know what's coming next.

"Say, didn't you tell me that you attended our school at one point?"

"Nope," you say with enough conviction to _almost_ convince them. 

And the hunt is on to find your picture in the yearbook. You don’t try to intervene, but you’re not exactly thrilled about it either. There’s only one thing you hope they won’t say when they see it…

“Dirk Strider,” says Roxy, running her finger along the page, connecting your name to your picture.

All of them are silent for a second when they see your picture. “Dirk is…” says Jane, eyes wide.

“No way,” says Roxy.

“Dirk is Hat Guy,” says Jake, staring at your picture.

Alright, so this isn’t the one thing you’d hoped they wouldn’t say. “I’m what?” you ask.

“Hat Guy,” says Roxy, looking at you in shock. “It’s you! You’re him!!”

“Alright,” you say, waiting for someone to explain to you what was so special about being Hat Guy.

“We talked about you all the time,” Roxy goes on. “A lot of people did. You were like a school legend! And then you up and disappeared, and everyone made up crazy stories about what happened to you.”

You look at them skeptically. So, apparently you were some kind of school legend named Hat Guy. Alright.

“Man, I can’t believe we’re in the presence of Hat Guy,” says Jake. “I’m flabbergasted.”

Jane steps in to give you an actual description of what being Hat Guy entailed. “You always wore a hat around school, right? Just like in this picture?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “It had sentimental value.”

Jane nods. “Well, first of all, it was against school rules to wear hats inside, so people always wondered how you got away with it. Also, you always kind of pulled it over your eyes like in this picture, so people thought you were quite… enigmatic. That’s where the interest in Hat Guy started. But then you were in a lot of extracurriculars, and you were just good at everything. People said that you were in the choir, on the swimming team and the baseball team, ran track and field, wrote for the school newspaper, entered in art competitions, were on the robotics team, did science and math contests, you name it. There were so many rumors like that you were blind and that’s why you didn’t let people see your eyes, that you had a sword in your locker and were going to go on a killing spree, and some rather stranger ones as well. When you left the school, people said that you got accepted to college after sixth grade or that you murdered someone and went to jail. That’s the legend of Hat Guy, I guess. We used to theorize about you a lot.”

“You could have at least given me a more creative name,” you say. You are genuinely surprised by this, as you weren’t privy to this knowledge before.

“We were twelve, give us a break,” says Jane.

“What was true and what wasn’t true??” asks Roxy. “Tell us the true legend of Hat Guy! We had a bet about what happened after you dropped out, but maybe now one of us can collect on it. Wait. I don’t want to know! It’ll spoil it… But I’m curious! Damn.”

“All of you have overactive imaginations,” you say. “It’s not really that interesting. But I wouldn’t want to ruin my intrigue. Or rather, Hat Guy’s.”

“Should we tell you the theories our twelve-year-old brains concocted?” asks Jane. “You don’t have to say if anyone is right or not. Jake’s is pretty silly.”

“Hey, mine’s perfectly plausible!” says Jake.

“I’ll start,” says Roxy. “I thought that Hat Guy was a talent scout who would, like, watch all the kids in their extracurriculars and pick out the best ones. And he left the school because they found out that the talent scout was actually the most talented one, so he became a pro baseball player or something. Those guys all wear hats, so I swore he was one of ‘em.”

Jane goes next. “I thought that Hat Guy was a secret government operative who infiltrated our school to pick out the best and brightest to attend a secret academy for detectives and spies… This is embarrassing, but I actually took an extracurricular with Hat Guy, I mean… you, to try and get a position at the detective academy.”

They look to Jake, and he looks reluctant to share. “Jake!! We told ours!” says Roxy, pushing him to tell you his theory. “I thought you said it was plausible like five seconds ago!”

Jake sighs. “Yes, I suppose I did… Hat Guy. I thought, in my youthful foolishness, that this mysterious figure was an extraterrestrial. Yes, an alien. My reasoning was that, to do that many extracurriculars, there had to be some bending of time-space involved.”

“Say the other reason!” says Roxy, holding back laughter.

“…I didn’t see Hat Guy sweat,” he says. Roxy and Jane laugh for some reason at the sound logic of twelve-year-old Jake. “Maybe I watched too many alien movies at the time,” he concludes.

“Each of them closer to the truth than the last,” you say.

Roxy looks for you to continue, curious as to the real secrets behind Hat Guy. “You don’t gotta tell us if you don’t want,” she says. “But I’m actually more curious, now that I actually know you and stuff.”

Jane nods. Jake already knows why you dropped out, and his face just drops a little.

“I didn’t like going home because my home life was kind of a shitshow, so I stayed at school as late as possible—hence the intense load of extracurriculars. I dropped out of school after sixth grade for Dave,” you say simply. “Let’s leave it at that for now, if that’s okay with you.”

The room is quiet for a while as your friends all mentally file away their delusions about Hat Guy. They leave it at that. You feel like you’ve ripped away a small but fun part of their childhoods because of your own fucked up one. You can imagine them having a sleepover just like this, the three of them theorizing about Hat Guy, and you feel like you’ve cast a kind of darkness across their fond memories. Like you personally murdered Hat Guy. It’s kind of heavy feeling, and you probably just shouldn’t have said anything. You were thinking about your half-hearted promise to Jake to be more open about stuff, but your shit just ends up bringing people down. You should probably just keep it to your fucking self like you always have. You already feel like a toxic, selfish parasite, leeching up happiness and giving nothing back in return whenever you interact, but tangling them up in your past shit is just making it worse for everyone involved.

“Dave looks like you when you were his age,” says Roxy. And you love Roxy, but that was the one thing you hadn’t wanted to hear when they started looking for your damned picture in the book. She couldn’t have known that, though.

Jane vaguely agrees, and you don’t want to ruin the atmosphere of the sleepover any more, but the thought of Dave becoming anything like you, even just with regards to his looks, makes your stomach turn. “Yeah,” is all you can manage to say without showing any messy emotions that will wreck things further.

What a lovely Halloween.


	10. Chapter 10

Conversation continues, and you’re involved in it, but not really a part of it. The topics are light, and laughter and smiles return to the room after a while. Soon, the girls are slinking up to Jake’s bedroom to take their prize of a soft mattress. They say their goodnights from the second floor, waving down at the two of you. Roxy blows more than a few kisses before disappearing into the room with Jane—probably to continue to talk about everyone’s crushes.

You’re left on the couch next to Jake, and you slide down onto the floor to stake out the comfiest spot on the rug for sleeping. Jake turns off the light in the living room and lies on the sofa above you.

“Are you sure you’d like to sleep on the floor?” he asks, putting a hand on your shoulder from above.

“Yeah,” you say, back turned toward him and looking like you’re trying to sleep.

“Goodnight, then,” says Jake, leaning down off the couch to kiss your cheek. You turn your body toward him, shifting the kiss to your lips. Jake smiles into the kiss, grabbing you by one elbow and trying to pull you up onto the couch next to him. You follow his lead, climbing up onto the couch and lying next to him, facing him. There’s no room for space in between the two of you. Jake glances up at his room at the top of the stairs. There’s a sliver of light around the outer edge of the door, making a thin illuminated rectangle. The girls’ voices mixed with music are drifting out. Jake looks back to you again.

“If we’re really quiet—“ you start, and Jake hits your arm pathetically weakly, looking away from you in embarrassment.

“Dirk,” he says in a forced whisper.

You smile at him, and he’s suddenly kissing you again. Convincing Jake English to kiss you, even with his friends in the next room, is probably one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. You don’t know whether to feel accomplished or guilty.

The sofa is too narrow to continue lying next to Jake comfortably, so you shift yourself on top of him, and before long, he’s tugging at your shirt. You’re a little surprised, but you comply with his wants and take it off quickly, flinging it to the other side of the room. You take the moment to quickly pull his shirts off as well. The sweater comes off easily, but the collared one is a little trickier, and a couple of the upper buttons may have been sacrificed for the greater good. Your skin presses together, and it’s weird to feel Jake’s stomach against yours—his bare chest against yours. It feels strange and new, and the two of you stay like this for a while. You straddling him, chest to chest, kissing slowly and intently. It’s… nice. Kissing Jake is beginning to become something that’s less nerve-wracking and heart-poundingly thrilling and more comfortable, like it’s something the two of you always should have been doing.

Suddenly, the room is a lot brighter. Jake pushes you off of him, and you fall to the floor on your back hard. You look up at the ceiling for a moment, then letting your eyes drift over to Jake and the figure at the top of the stairs.

“Jaaake! Can we borrow some jammies or something?” asks Roxy, and it seems like she hadn’t seen anything. Jake glances at you before running up the stairs to help them find something to wear for sleeping. You watch him go upstairs. From your position on the ground in front of the couch, you’re probably virtually invisible from the top of the stairs.

“Jakey,” says Roxy, looking at him a little strangely. You can barely make out their faces as they’re backlit from the light streaming out of Jake’s room.

Jane comes out of the room, the same puzzled expression on her face. Puzzled expression turns to slight embarrassment, and she turns her head away from Jake.

“Why are you half-nakie and covered in bruises?” asks Roxy bluntly.

Jake laughs nervously. “Oh, this?” he says. “I got hot, of course! And the bruises are just from, y’know, being a clumsy gent like I’m prone to being! …Fell down some stairs!” He doesn’t give them a chance to be suspicious, instead going into the room quickly and picking out some comfortable clothes for the girls to wear. He makes his exit and closes the door on the ladies behind him, darting back down the stairs and to the safety of the couch. “Fuckin’… shucks,” says Jake, sitting on the couch and looking down at you, expression awkward and flustered.

“Did you hook your girls up with some sweet jammies?” you ask, propping yourself up on your side using your elbow to look up at Jake more easily. The ground is hard and unforgiving against your bruises, even with the rug. You don’t mind the feeling.

“Only the sweetest everfriggin’ jammies for the ladies,” he says, face changing from flustered to slightly amused.

“You know how to treat a lady right, English,” you say, and Jake bursts out into fits of laughter. You’re pretty sure that it’s more out of relief than any kind of actual humor.

\-----

The next morning, as well as the next few weeks, pass without any abrupt or life-altering reality changes. The leaves of the trees litter the ground, grass light brown like the frayed ends of a rope. Jake insists that you continue sleeping at his house as long as you need, and you're probably too eager to spend time with him, so you do with little resistance. The two of you spend too much time together, and your relationship isn't perfect, but it's comfortable. Things are still strained between you and Dave. You bring groceries to the house and clean up when necessary, and Dave usually tries his best to ignore you if you happen to cross paths. You're pretty sure that he's seriously thinking about shit, though.

You start working nights at bars again, and focusing your thoughts through the filter of rhyme and creating raps is a welcome challenge. It helps you organize what you're thinking about neatly into numbers of syllables and words with similar ending sounds. Your friends start coming out to see you again; Roxy is coming to the bar but still not drinking, and Jane still comes when she can after school. Jake is coming out much more frequently. You wonder if it's because it's a slow time for the pumpkin patch or because you're romantically engaged. Oh, yeah. That's still a secret to your friends, and it's starting to become a little cumbersome to hide it.

"Dirk," Jake starts one night as you lie in bed together, and you get an instantly bad feeling. "Don't you think maybe your brother needs you at home sometimes?"

"He doesn't want to see me," you say.

"Yeah, but kids have all kind of things they need without wanting it," says Jake. "When I was just knee-high, I thought I didn't need anyone and rejected the assistance of my parents when climbing a tree, but then I couldn't get down."

"Are you trying to tell me that my little brother is stuck in a tree? Because if that's the case, he has a phone and is perfectly capable of calling 911."

"Stop being so utterly obtuse."

You look at him evenly. "Jake, do you think I don't think about Dave? He's on my mind 24-7, and yes, I understand that even though he wants his space, it's probably better for a ten-year-old kid not to be living in a house by himself... If he had a guardian that was anyone other than me."

"What do you mean by that?" asks Jake, meeting your gaze.

"I mean that I'm a shit guardian, I did shit things to him, and he has the right to be without me for a while if he wants to be. It's better for him if I'm not there."

Jake looks uncomfortable, eyes shifting from you to some skulls behind you and teeth worrying at his lip. "Even though that's the case, what if he does need something besides food and money... like someone to talk to?"

"I was never that to him," you say. "And I'm not really sure that I could be."

Jake looks back at you, more resolved now. Shit, he's trying to fix the relationship between you and your brother again.

"Do you love him?" he asks clearly, and the question makes your stomach loop around on itself uncomfortably like some kind of tiny contortionist. But not because you don't.

"Yeah," you say, deciding to keep it to a simple version of how complicated the love you have for Dave is.

"Then you need to be there for him, whether he likes it or not," says Jake.

"It's more complicated than that," you start. "I love him, but I don't really feel it's best for him to love me back."

A little resolve drops from Jake's face. "Oh," he says. "Why?"

"I don't really feel like it's healthy for other people to love me," you say, stopping him before he starts to explain what you know he's going to try to explain. "You're different because you're an adult and can make your own choices, but I've just been this constant looming shitty presence in his life, and he's tied to me. He depends on me for food and a place to live, and it's not healthy for him to feel obligated to me for that because I haven't done anything to deserve his obligation or forgiveness. Much less his love."

"So you want him to be alone so he has the freedom and space to make his own decision? And you don't feel like you deserve his love?" Jake summarizes. It's not the entire truth, but it's a big part of it.

"Yeah, among other things," you say.

He looks like he understands the situation a little better. "But isn't that kind of...a paradox?" he asks. Now he's getting a partial taste of why it's so complicated.

"Can't do anything to deserve his love or forgiveness if I'm not there, but can't be there because I don't think I'm deserving, and I want him to have the space to make his own mind up. Yeah, kind of. There are other factors, but that's the probably the main set."

"I still think you should go back," says Jake. Just when you thought he was starting to get it. Or maybe...

"You don't want me here anymore," you say, and he freezes like he got caught taking a cookie out of the cookie jar. "No, I get it. I've overstayed my welcome. It's really fine, but I wish you would have just said that instead of trying to make it about my relationship with Dave. That's kind of not cool."

"I..." Jake opens and closes his mouth again. "I wasn't thinking that."

"So you don't want some time away from me?" you ask.

"I... Dirk. Dirk, I can't in good conscience say that I didn't want a little bit of a break after going from you being distant and aloof to suddenly seeing you 24 hours a day. It's not that I don't like you, but it was a sudden switch, and... Anyway, it's unrelated to this conversation! I wasn't thinking about that when I said you should go home. I was thinking about you and your brother."

"Nah, I got it. It's alright," you say, and you can see Jake wanting to reach out to you. "Really, I'm not being an asshole right now. I honestly get it." And you do. You wish that you could get some time away from yourself sometimes, too. A lot of times.

"Don't go," he says as a last ditch effort.

"Jake," you say. "It's okay. I'm gonna go. Hit me up later or something, man."

"Fuck," says Jake in a rare single curse unaccompanied by any silly counterparts.

You get out of bed, changing back into your normal clothes. You can't remember when changing in front of Jake became comfortable.

"It's midnight," he says, trying to change your mind, but knowing from experience that that is a near impossible feat. That being said, he is one of the only people to have accomplished it so completely before.

"I'll find somewhere. There are tons of cheap motels. Don't worry about it," you say.

"This is unreasonable," he says. "What can I say? I was wrong? I didn't mean it? I'm sorry? Just please don't leave at midnight."

"Would any of those things be true?" you ask, finishing up pulling on your pants and picking up your shades from the table next to Jake's bed.

"I am sorry," he says.

"I just wish you would have told me sooner. Now I feel like I've been a needy prick, and I don't know for how long." You put your shades on and make your way for the door.

Jake sighs. "You know I don't think you're a needy prick. This wasn't even what our conversation was about!" He looks exasperated with you. You know that you're making the situation worse, but you can't act like anyone but yourself in this moment. And you wish you could. You can feel you cutting yourself off from Jake, simultaneously becoming more needy by leaving in this moment, being an ass.

"See you later, Jake," you say, leaving him in his bed. You walk downstairs and leave his house, cold air biting at your nose and your arms as you realize that you left your coat inside in your haste. Can't go back in now.

There's a light from behind you as the front door opens and an arm reaches out bearing your coat. You hear a flustered sigh from the arm's owner.

“…Thanks,” you say, grabbing your coat and shrugging it on.

“Come back inside…?” Jake tries weakly one last time.

“Call me,” you say, leaving his front step and heading in the direction of the city lights. You hear the front door close behind you and don’t look back. 

Within a few minutes of looking into the city’s hotels and motels, you realize that midnight is not a valid check-in time for any of them, with the exception of the really seedy ones. You’re considering where would be best to go when you get a call. You have some sick hope that it’s Jake and that he’s secretly as clingy as you are, but upon inspection, it’s Roxy.

“Hey, Rox,” you say.

“Hey!” she says. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Jake just told me that you’re being an idiot and need a place to crash. You can stay the night at my house if you want.”

“Nah, that’s alright,” you say. “It’s late, and I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“Late my butt, you know I’m always up practicing my sweet hacking until at least two! And I had enough drunk nights without my good friends around in college to know that only creepy motels let you check in after midnight. Just come over! It’ll be fun!”

Roxy’s house does sound more comfortable than one of the motels…

Roxy notes your slight hesitation. “Are you seriously considering a shady motel over my house right now?! Anyway, my mom’s out of town, so it’s just me and Rosey here tonight.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

“See ya!” she says, hanging up the phone.

You put your phone back in your pocket and head to Roxy’s house. There’s some kind of twisted gratitude towards Jake in your heart because he knew that you wouldn’t ask for help. Even though Jake’s sick of always being around you, you’re glad that he still cares about you. You can’t imagine yourself being in the same position; if there’s someone you’re interested in romantically, being with them as much as possible and knowing what they’re doing, what they have done, what they will do, giving advice, making plans, challenging your partner to do better, all of these things are a part of it for you. You’re aware that what you view as dedication is overbearing for some people, but that’s why you’re giving Jake a break from you now. You know that he wouldn’t bring it up again or make you leave later if you’d let it go tonight.

You eventually end up at Roxy’s house, knocking on the front door. The door swings open, and you’re pulled quickly out of the cold and into a warm, well-lit home. Roxy guides you past her kitchen, past a couple doors, and to her room. She drags you onto her fuschia-adorned bed, sitting down next to you and looking at you attentively. There’s a laptop on a desk in the corner, and a cat plush on her lap.

“So,” she says. “Tell me all about why you’re bein’ an idiot according to Jake.”

“Alright,” you begin. “I guess I need to start around last month, then.”

Roxy’s eyes get bigger. “What happened last month? What’s been up between you guys? Me and Jane noticed the two of ya acting kinda weird around us, but we don’t know what’s up. We have some guesses, but they’re probably about as true as the theories about Hat Guy.”

“I told you about apologizing to my brother,” you say.

“Yeah,” she says.

“After that, he told me that he didn’t know if he could accept it or not, and he said that he needed some time to himself.”

“Okay, then what,” says Roxy, still looking at you with her undivided attention.

“I left the house to give him some space,” you say.

Roxy looks like she’s putting two and two together. “And you’ve been staying at Jake’s for like a month!” she concludes.

“Yeah,” you say.

“So _that’s_ why you were hanging out with him so much and helping with his pumpkin patch and going the same way as him after we all hung out together sometimes! Yeah, Jane’s theory was so wrong. Anyway, what was the problem?” 

“He got sick of me,” you say. “So I left.”

“No way,” says Roxy. “How could he get sick of you? I wouldn’t get sick of you!” She gives you a wink.

“No, it was my fault. I was too overbearing, and I understand him needing some space. I just wish he’d told me sooner.”

"Did he really say that he's sick of you?? Doesn't sound like Jake," says Roxy, looking a little suspicious.

"He said that we've been spending too much time together and he wants some time to himself," you say. "But enough about that. Thanks for letting me stay here."

"No problem!!" says Roxy, smiling big and grabbing your arm. "Stay as long as you want. I'm serious; I couldn't get sick of you."

"I know," you say, giving her a small smile.

She lets go of your arm and gives you a hug instead, speaking with her head to your chest. "So what about stuff with your bro?"

"It'll be fine. Or it won't. That's his choice, I guess... I feel like it's been a long time since the two of us talked like this. What have you been doing?" You knew that you'd been spending a lot of time with Jake, but you hadn't realized how much you'd been shutting Roxy out. You hadn't realized because she never complained about it, just accepting when you wanted to talk to her and being happy with you in those times. You always wish that you could be more like Roxy, but especially in this situation, you wish you could.

The two of you talk about your recent lives, Hat Guy, and your friends among other things. You talk for hours, and soon the sun's rays are straining your eyes. You don't remember taking off your shades, but they're on the table. Roxy's head is on your shoulder, and the two of you are still talking lazily about your friends. Roxy yawns, and her head slides down your shoulder and onto your lap. You lean back onto the bed, letting yourself lie down for a while. You glance at your phone. No missed calls from Jake or Dave, or anyone for that matter.

You sigh, letting your head fall against the bed heavily. Roxy turns her head to face you, looking up at you from your lap. "Did I doze off?" she asks, voice laden with a sleepy slowness. It almost reminds you of how she talks when she's drunk, but she’s put that behind her recently.

"No," you say, putting a hand on her back and patting it slowly.

"Are you tryin'a pat me to sleep?" she asks. "Y'know that only works on...babies..." Her speaking slows, and her head relaxes against you again as she falls asleep. You used to use that trick on Dave, and it doesn't just work on babies.

You hear Roxy's door open, and you raise your head a little to see Rose standing in the doorway. "Hey," you say quietly. Her older sister sleeping with her head on your lap is a strange situation to walk in on, but you're pretty sure that Rose is too perceptive to misunderstand it.

"Good morning," says Rose, equally quietly. "Our mother is out, so I need a ride to school."

You glance down at Roxy and see how deeply she's sleeping, small snores escaping her mouth. "Sure, I'll just take you," you say, and Rose helps you lie her sister out comfortably on the bed and cover her in blankets. All of Rose's movements are quick and efficient, and it looks like this isn't the first or even twentieth time she's helped her sister into bed after a long night. The two of you leave the room together after the sleeping Roxy looks sufficiently tucked in and comfortable.

"Did you eat breakfast?" you ask.

"No, but it's really not necessary. I'm not that hungry," says Rose.

"Bullshit," you say, heading for the kitchen. "Every kid's hungry all the time. Fact. Are you trying to lose weight or something? Dave went through a phase like that. Then I told him that if he doesn't eat, he's gonna be shorter than you forever, and he got kind of pissed about that."

Rose gives you a small smile at the new information about her friend. "Did he, now?" she says. "...Maybe cereal would suffice."

"Fruity Pebbles, my liege?" you ask.

"That would be lovely," she says, giving you a curtsey and taking a seat at the table in the kitchen.

Rose is a cute kid. You wonder if Dave likes her as you pour her and yourself a bowl of cereal. You eat quickly, already a little late, and she gathers her backpack and heads outside to the driveway where the car is parked.

You open the door for her, and she hops in the passenger's seat before you get in on the driver's side. You don't have a car or drive often, but you have your license and have driven this car on a few occasions when Roxy drove it to the bar and got too drunk to drive back.

You back out down the driveway and head to Rose's school, which is also Dave's school and the school Hat Guy had attended until sixth grade.

"How's school?" you ask, your ruse to ask about Dave extremely transparent. You trust that she'll get your point.

"He's fine," she says, both of you looking out the windshield. "Don't tell him I said this, but he said that he misses you sometimes. Mostly under his breath or in really small caps to make it seem ironic."

"Isn't that a breech of therapist-patient confidentiality?" you ask.

She looks over at you, smiling a little. "Something like that," she says. "He doesn't want to ask you to come back, but I suspect that he'll cave into his urge to have you around again soon. How do you feel about the situation?"

"How do you think I feel about the situation?" you ask, curious what a twelve-year-old psychologist in the making would make of your mental state in relation to your estrangement from your brother.

She thinks about it for a moment calmly as you turn onto the road her school is on. "I don't have enough information about you to make a solid conclusion," she says finally.

"So I have to pay for more sessions? You're a genuine psychologist already," you say.

"I think driving me to school will be sufficient payment," she says, letting a little laugh escape her.

"Got it," you say. "Call me on Roxy's phone if she ever sleeps in again. But she's not drinking anymore, so I'm sure that won't be nearly as often as you would need to construct a thorough analysis."

"Yeah," says Rose, and even through that one syllable you can feel her relief. You pull up to the front of the school, and he's there. Dave and two of his friends are waiting under a tree in front of the school, apparently waiting for Rose. The dark-haired boy and girl on either side of your brother wave wildly at the car, and Dave looks on in disinterest, until he sees that it's you driving the car. Then, he turns his head to the side to talk to his friends with even less interest.

"Thank you," says Rose, gathering her bag and hopping out of the car. "I suppose I'll see you around my house or in this car for your next session."

"Sure thing," you say, and she shuts the door on her way to school. You can't resist the urge to linger for just a little while to see the four of them all meet. They look happy together, probably how the three of your friends were in school before they met you. You start the drive back to Roxy's house as the four of them enter the school, all of them besides Dave giving you interested glances over their shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like the people reading to this point are pretty awesome (and thanks so much for reading until chapter 10 i mean wow???), so i'm gonna level with you guys and talk with you about stuff for a sec. not really a fan of the way this chapter turned out. it just feels lazily-written, probably because i was writing on the subway on the way to and from work using my phone pretty often at this point. i tried to go back in and edit it, but it didn't really work. the next one will be better. sorry!
> 
> anyway, tomorrow's 4/13, so maybe i'll post some other stuff i've been working on and/or another chapter then! (: i'm pretty excited! in the country where i live, there aren't really many homestuck fans. also, i'm not really friends with anyone in the homestuck community, but i'm really, really enjoying writing more and getting back into it again these days! happy 4/13 everyone~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter b/c 4/13 (:

The drive seems longer than it was when you were going to the school, and when you pull in to Roxy's driveway, your phone is buzzing in your pocket.

After seeing Dave's picture in the caller ID--you remember that he hates the picture you chose--you answer the phone, quickly but rather skeptically.

"Hey," says the voice that is decidedly not Dave's from the other end. It sounds like someone trying their utmost to be cool.

"Nice try, John," you say. You've never met John, so you're not sure what he sounds like, but you've heard Dave mention the name John. It’s really a shot in the dark.

He doesn't say anything for a while, and a distant-sounding girl's voice says, "He caught you, didn't he?? I told you that your Dave impression was no good! Now put his phone back! If he walks in and sees you--"

"What the fuck," comes a voice, even more distant than the girl's, and you recognize this as the real Dave. There are a few loud banging and crashing sounds in quick succession.

"Hello?" comes your brother's voice, closer now.

"Hey," you say.

"God fucking… John, you called my brother?" There's another thudding sound, and you think it's Dave hitting his friend at first, but by how silent it is after, you realize that it's a door closing as your brother heads into a quieter room.

"My friend's an idiot," says Dave, and you're a little surprised that he didn't hang up once he realized it was you.

"Nah," you say. "Gotta respect the little dude for wanting to perfect his Dave Strider impression."

"That's what he was doing? Fuck.. uh... Anyway, bro," he stops.

"Yeah?" you say.

"That was kind of cool what you did for Rose and her sister today," he says. "She told me about it." You imagine him rubbing the back of his neck with the conflicted stress of giving you a compliment. He continues, and the words come out more quickly than you're sure he intends them to. "Also I guess a month's enough time, so come back home now or whatever."

Just as you're about to respond, he hangs up. Almost instantly, he calls back.

"Didn't mean to hang up right then. Wouldn't want you to think I was being cowardly or something... I'm really gonna hang up now."

And he hangs up again.

You sit in the car for a while, thinking about what your brother just told you. You lean your head back against the headrest, taking a deep breath. He didn't accept your apology, and you didn't want him to, but going back to living in the same house as your brother is a big step. It's going to be different this time, hopefully less shitty. You've already been a better guardian than you ever had been before in your absence, but now it's time to be a better guardian while bring present. Becoming a presence other than some kind of demented ironic shadowy figure in your brother's life isn't going to be easy for either of you.

You open the car door, and you feel like shit about the first thought you think after getting out of the car being not about Dave, but Jake. He said he wanted space--the only thing anyone seems to want from you lately--and you agreed to give him that, so you shouldn't call him... 

You call him and hang up after one ring. Fuck.

Sure that Roxy's still sleeping, you decide to go home. Before you can walk out of the driveway, your phone rings. Today is a busy day for your phone. It's Jake.

"Hey," you answer casually as if you hadn't called him thirty seconds ago.

"...You called?"

"...Yeah."

"...Did you sleep at Roxy's?"

"Yeah. Thanks for setting that up."

"Galloping fucking gosh she said she wouldn't tell you."

"I really was being an idiot, though. Sorry about that."

"She wasn't supposed to tell you that I said that, either!” 

"Anyway, I'm going back home today, so I guess this whole fiasco just became a nonissue."

Jake's voice brightens. "Oh, you are?? How did that turn of events come about?"

"Dave said that he's had enough space for now... Also, even though I freaked out on you at the end, I really was appreciative of you letting me stay with you, and I want to go back and see you sometime, if that's okay."

"I probably shouldn't have said what I did, either, at least not with the particularly unfortunate timing that I chose," Jake says. "Wait, you didn't think that I was breaking up with you, do you?"

"I may have considered it," you say.

Jake lets out a little laugh. "No, I was really just looking for a few moments of alone time for some introspection. Maybe like a day? Also, I kind of have company in the other room now, so I’d better cut short my prattling and entertain my guest,” he says, and you're well aware that you've already been talking to him for far too long on his supposed day without you. Giving people space from you and being aloof are practically your specialties, but why is it so hard to give Jake space? You've been teasing at the idea in your head, but the knot won't fully untangle. Why Jake English?

"Yeah, bye," you say, hanging up promptly. You almost pull a Dave and call back to say that you hung up accidentally, but you don't let that impulse get through the net of your mind that filters out shit ideas. A portion of them, anyway.

You know that he'll probably let you continue to call him and act like it's completely normal until he reaches the absolute end of his rope and breaks up with you in a last ditch effort to save his sanity from your constant plans and neediness. Jake doesn't really like to confront his feelings too deeply if it makes others uncomfortable, so he doesn't talk about them often, but then it seems like he suddenly snaps as they build up. You guess that you're similar, but it's not that you're worried about making others feel alienated with your feelings; it's quite the opposite, actually. Making other uncomfortable and alienating them doesn't bother you in the slightest, but if you tell your emotions to others, it might ruin your plans, might alienate you from yourself.

Also, who the hell is his guest? Curiosity growing, you text Jane, “Hey, are you, Jake, and Roxy doing anything today?”

Her response comes as you get off the elevator on your floor of your apartment building. “Yeah, just hanging out with Jake now. What about you?”

That was an idiotic and roundabout and surprisingly effective way to find out who Jake’s guest was. So, it was Jane. Jane and Jake. Hanging out. Just the two of them. At Jake’s house. Alright, that’s fine. This is actually fine. It’s great that they’ve gotten over each other and are comfortable enough to hang out, just the two of them. That’s really a big step for their relationship. They’re probably just sitting on the couch and watching a movie, drinking some tea and eating some cake or something. Her head on his shoulder, then his tongue down his throat, they’re— 

“I’m not really doing anything. Are the two of you considering getting back together?” you write. That was probably too sudden.

“Well… That’s sudden,” she texts back. You wait for the next text, but it seems like she’s rewriting it because it’s taking forever. Little bubbles show that she’s typing, but the message isn’t coming fast enough. “The thing I had going with the guy at my school fizzled out, so I guess you never know!”

“That fizzled right the fuck out, huh. That’s awful, sorry to hear about it. You and English rekindling it up then?” You realize that this message sounds a little sporadic. You’re still standing in the entranceway to your apartment, not even going into the room yet because of your awful anticipation. 

“Hehe… I don’t know if I would go that far,” she texts back. “I never knew that you were so interested in my love life, Mr. Strider!”

“I’m interested in all of my friends’ love lives,” you reply, fingers moving faster than they should be. You finally open the door to your apartment and go sit on the couch. You don’t really pay attention to anything in your surroundings except the phone, which would usually lead to injury, or at least a nasty cut, in your perilous household.

“Well then…” comes the reply, more quickly this time. “Do you know anything about Jake’s secret someone? Roxy told me that you were living here for a little while, so you must have heard something! Or seen her.”

“Have seen/heard hide nor tail of the mystery love interest. Starting to suspect Neytiri.”

“You’re covering up for him, aren’t you? I think you know something… But that’s alright if you don’t want to tell me. I think I’ll ask him about it,” she replies.

“Doesn’t Jake think it’s strange that you’re texting so much?” you ask, imagining them sitting on the couch together gazing into one another’s eyes.

“No, he’s texting someone, too. Maybe it’s her. :/“

Now you’re curious about who he’s texting. You text Roxy ten consecutive spammy messages, only writing at the end that it’s a part of the script from the My Little Pony movie. She would definitely read thoroughly through all of them. Also, yes, you have a small portion of the movie memorized, and yes it comes in handy all the fucking time.

“Did he stop texting?” you ask Jane, knowing that your messages would distract Roxy from texting Jake for a while if he were texting her.

“Nope,” she says. “Why? Are you practicing for the Psychic Exam?”

“The Psychic Exam isn’t a thing,” you reply. “Inasmuch as capitalizing the p and the e would imply that you’re referring to a singular nationally-recognized standardized test to prove your psychic powers and gain a certificate of psychicship.”

“Psychicship isn’t a word,” she texts back.

“Touche,” you reply, having only made up such an idiotic word to get her off the topic of why you wanted to know in the first place.

“I think I have to go for a little bit,” Jane texts. “I’m going to talk to Jake for a little longer and then go home to study. But we should all meet sometime soon!”

“Yes,” you send. “Sometime very soon.”

“:B” is her final message to you, the bucktoothed version of the international symbol of ‘I’m busy right now, so I can’t make actual plans to meet at this moment, but let’s just keep it at ‘soon’ to prove to each other that we definitely have the intention to meet and are still good friends.’ A parenthesis and a capital b can hold so much meaning.

You finally look around the living room to see that it’s clean—unnaturally clean. There are no puppets laying around, no CDs or tapes, no other random shit that would normally be laying around. This cleanness looks like it’s covering something up… Had Dave had a party or something? It’s your first day back in the house, so you don’t want to be too suspicious of him right off the bat, but it’s hard not to be when the house is this spotless. You walk to the kitchen, and it’s just as sparkling clean.

You walk to your room, and that’s clean, too. Also, there are no sheets or covers of any kind on the bed. Shit. You’d left him on the bed, but now he was gone. Where the fuck is Cal. Your mind goes unto overdrive as you look around the rest of your room, closet empty of all puppets. You call Dave instantly. It doesn’t matter if he’s pissed at you about his fucked up childhood. Messing with Cal crosses a line.

“Hey,” he picks up, other voices loud around him. Must be break time.

“Where’s Cal?” is all you say.

“What.”

“Where the hell is Cal?” you ask again.

“Cal’s gone?”

“I came home, and I looked under the covers where I left him, but he’s not here. Other puppets are gone, too. What the fuck, Dave?”

“I didn’t… Oh, shit. Wait. I did. Goddamn it.”

“You did what?”

“I hired a cleaner.”

“A cleaner? Why?” you ask.

“…To make it look like I didn’t have my friends over last night,” he replies, and you can hear that he doesn’t want to tell you about it.

“Let’s talk about that later,” you say. “For now, we need to fix this.”

“Fuck that, I don’t want to help you get back your pornographic puppets.”

“Dave,” you start. “Did you fuck up by not anticipating that the cleaner would take them?”

“No, they’re fucking creepy, and I totally anticipated that the cleaner would take them,” he replies.

“No, you didn’t.”

A loud sigh. “…Fine, I fucked up.” 

“You know Strider rules. You fuck up, you fix it,” you say. “I can help you if you wa—“

“I don’t need your fucking help. I can fix it by myself.” He hangs up.

You’d basically cornered your brother into finding Cal and the other puppets, but you’re not sure if you even want him to handle it. You’d rather do it yourself, but the one who fucks it up being the one who fixes it is the rule, and you guess it might be a step in the right direction to put some trust in your brother for once. Give him an actual important task. Letting him find and handle your shit is actually kind of a big deal, and you’re pretty sure that he’ll get to this conclusion too, after getting through a cloud of anger about it. Maybe sending your brother on a fetch quest your first thing back in the house wasn’t the best idea, but you’re pretty sure he’ll see it as fair at least. Putting trust in him at most.

You push the issue from your mind for now, trying to not call the cleaning service, find out which dry cleaner they use, and go there immediately. You’re going to let Dave handle this one. He can do it. The next order of business is finding your skateboard that you think Dave stole. You don’t mind if he’s using it for sweet stunts, but if he’s just put it in a jar to pickle or something, you’re going to have to go on a rescue mission.

You open the door to your brother’s room, and seeing it this clean is strange. Everything is in its place, and it makes it hard to find anything. Hiring a cleaner had actually been a terrible idea. While searching for the skateboard, you see his ‘ironic’ and ‘fake’ diary laying out in the open on his desk next to his shitty monitor, and you’re half tempted to read it—why not if it’s ‘fake,’ right? But you don’t. That would seem like punishing him for having a diary, and you don’t want to do that. If journaling floats his boat, then that’s awesome. 

It’s then that your eyes drift to under his desk to see a brand new, still-shiny computer. Its glistening black surface seems to mock you for giving Dave your card. Its then that you start to notice all of the new things in his room. A new pair of shoes still in the box at the foot of his bed, new turntables on his new second desk, new headphones. Maybe this was some kind of payback for always getting the hand-me-downs while you always kept the good stuff for yourself. And it would be. If the money on your card weren’t originally for Dave’s college fund.

Not that you don’t have money saved in other places for Dave, because you do, but you guess you just consider all money not currently in use as Dave’s college fund. It’s usually a useful way of forcing yourself to be more cautious with your spending, and now it’ll be a great chance to tell your brother that he spent his college fund on all of his radical new loot. And it will be true. Partially. Your hope is to encourage better spending habits.

You go back to your room and mess around on the computer—yours now inferior to Dave’s—as you think about the burning question that is still on your mind from earlier: If not Roxy, then who had Jake been texting? Roxy still hasn’t texted you back, which means she isn’t awake or there was some freak accident regarding her phone. You guess that Jane has probably left his house to go study now, and what if Jake met the person he was texting? I seems to be someone outside of your friend group, so you have no idea who it is. 

It makes you feel strangely anxious. Deciding these ‘what ifs’ are ridiculous, you decide to start making plans instead of flighty hypotheticals. Hypotheticals only calculate the "what if," whereas your plans attach a consequent action in the format of, "If x happens, I will do y." This is obviously the superior format because it prepares you for what you need to do, or what consequence there will be, for any possible scenario. Making plans is kind of a self-calming thing for you. As well as being hells of practical.

You create some plans in your mind as you browse the internet, not wanting to waste paper by writing any down this time.

You're interrupted in the midst of your planning by a loud bang as the front door opens. Instinctively, you grab your sword and walk into the living room. The footfalls are too heavy to be Dave's, unless...

Enter Dave, burdened by a huge white bag. His expression is set into a definite 'fuck you,' as he drops the bag at your feet. You don't have to look inside to know what it is.

"And Cal?" you ask.

"He's in there with the rest of them," he says, looking resolute. "Because he's just a stupid puppet, like the rest of them."

He knows that's not true. You open the bag and dig through its contents to find Cal at the bottom. Of course he would be. He probably hit the ground hard every time your little brother's weak arms gave out. You set Cal on the couch, letting him stretch out to be more comfortable. It must have been cramped in there.

"You fixed it," you say, and your brother's face flashes briefly with something resembling pride.

"Hell yeah I did," he says.

"What do you want for dinner?" you ask, considering his favorite pizza. Strider rules state that the one who fixes what he fucked up has dinner bought for him.

"Sushi," he says, surprising you a bit.

"Sushi?" you ask.

"Yeah, Rose told me that I need to try it," he says. "But I don't want to try it in front of her because she thinks she's cultured, and she'll probably give me some kind of stupid comment if I don't like it."

"Sushi it is then," you say, grabbing your coat.

Dave looks at you, confused. He doesn't really show his confusion much, but having known him since he was a baby, you're familiar with all of the minute changes of expression that give away his emotions. Confusion is a small downturn of the mouth that reveals a small dimple in his chin for a fraction of a second. "Well, we can't order sushi," you say. "You gotta go to a restaurant for that kind of shit."

Dave looks uncomfortable. "Bro, you remember what happens last time..."

The two of you hadn't been to a restaurant since the playplace incident. "Sushi restaurants don't have playplaces," you say with certainty, and your little brother agrees to go along reluctantly.

You head out of the apartment and to the restaurant, wind berating your respective shade-clad faces. You both completely ignore the Big Issue at hand, conversation dotted with questions or comments that come too close to it being shot down with awkward pauses or ironic segues into other topics. Dave stays at your side, keeping up with your pace despite his short stature. He really is overdue for his growth spurt.

Your thoughts obsessively wind around Jake as you're talking to your brother. Talking about something while thinking about something completely different had never been that difficult for you. Your hand keeps drifting to your phone to check that it's still in your pocket, betraying your thoughts.

"You waiting for a call or something?" asks Dave, observing your obsessive checking.

"Yeah, not expecting one, though," you say. But this doesn't stop your hand from performing its little obsessive checks like clockwork.

Dave looks a little suspicious, but the two of you keep walking together and eventually make it to the restaurant. It has modern architecture, and it's much more upscale than any of the dingy pizza buffets or fast food chains that you've eaten at together. This was mainly when you had a money deficit, but dining together at dives hadn't stopped, even when you did have the money to afford better. It's definitely the nicest restaurant you've ever been to together, which means that it's probably the nicest restaurant Dave has ever been to, period.

"This is a restaurant?" asks Dave, eyeing the building with the undeserved skepticism of someone who is "uncultured."

You open a menacing door and usher your brother in ahead of you. A greeter welcomes you in. "How many?" she asks cheerfully. The inside of the restaurant matches the outside. It's a wide, open space with polished cement floors and heavy-looking tables and expensive chairs.

"Two," you say, and she leads you to a small table for the two of you, providing you with utensils robed in a cloth napkin and two menus. She lets you know that someone will be over to help you shortly and walks away, high ponytail bouncing to the beat of a classical music remix.

Dave looks a little out of his element, opening the napkin roll and peeking inside to see chopsticks and a spoon. You taught him how eat his macaroni with chopsticks when he was basically still an infant, so you're sure he'll be fine. He opens the menu, poring over its contents.

"Bro," he begins slowly. "What the fuck is a tempura."

"It's fried," you explain. "You'd probably like it."

"No," he says. "Today, I can't eat any fried shit. Where's the fish that's going to culture the hell out of me?"

"Page two," you say, looking at your own menu. You continue, “Sashimi is just raw fish, sushi is basically the same thing but with rice, and rolls have fish and other ingredients all wrapped up in the middle of the rice.”

Dave considers for a moment. “All or nothing, I’m going sashimi.”

“What kind of fish?”

“Fuck. Yeah, fish has different kinds.”

“You didn’t know that there were different kinds of fish?” you ask, but then again, you shouldn’t be so surprised, as you’re pretty sure the only fish you’ve given your brother is the ‘stick’ variety.

“Why the hell should there be different kinds?” he asks. “It’s not like there’s different kinds of pigs or cows. Like, yes, please give me the fucking double-A grade state fair prize-winning J. Egbert pig bacon. Oh, wait, that doesn’t even fucking matter because that’s not even a thing that people care about.”

“Egbert on the brain?”

Before your brother has time to answer, the waiter comes over to assist you, timing impeccable. You order salmon sashimi for Dave and a roll for yourself, mainly as a fall-back for Dave in case he doesn’t like the raw fish. You’re pretty sure that he wouldn’t let you switch with him even if he were about to throw up, but whatever.

“…So, the one I talked to today was John, right?” you ask, remembering that you had called him John as a guess.

“Yeah,” your brother says. “He was kind of being a tool today. I shouldn’t have left him alone in the same room with my phone.”

“He’s the one that likes pranks?” you ask, pretty sure that you’re remembering correctly. Even if you weren’t, his antics today prove that he probably is the one who likes pranks.

“Yeah,” Dave says. “Pranks are stupid, though. I try to tell him that, but he just doesn’t listen. You should see him on April 1st. It’s out of control.”

“What about Rose?” you say, continuing the conversation about Dave’s friends. It feels comfortable to talk about them and deflect any kind of attention from the one-month-old elephant in the room between the two of you. He seems as eager not to talk about it as you are. “Does she ever try to psychoanalyze you?”

“All the time. It’s kind of annoying, actually. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Rose is pretty cool, but it gets really fucking old after a while. I start to feel like the questions she’s asking me have an ulterior motive like to further her psychology learning or whatever. What’s her sister like? I heard she’s always drunk or something.”

“Nah, these days she’s not even drinking. She’s pretty cool, too. You’ve met her, but she’s kind of like the glue to our friend group. And she has this really bright personality like you wouldn’t even believe.”

“Damn. Are you in love or something?” he asks straightforwardly. And it’s in this moment that you realize your brother doesn’t even know your orientation. He doesn’t know much about you at all, and it makes you feel surreally far away from him for having known him his whole life. You’ve opened up more to people you’ve known for a few goddamn months.

“Fuck yeah, I love Roxy platonically. I wish I had more of her qualities.”

“Platonically, huh?” says Dave. “I’m not in to that gossip shit or anything, but Rose said that her sister is pretty much all over you all the time and talks about you so much that she probably knows you better than I do.”

Roxy’s one-sided love for you is a little bit of a sore subject. You think your guilt it showing. “I don’t really have the capability to love her back romantically, but she knows that.”

“Don’t really have the capa… Oh. Oh shit. I didn’t know.” Dave looks away briefly before looking back at you, eyebrows set with resolve. “Bro,” his serious question begins, “what’s it like to kiss a dude?” He looks away again after asking.

“Is it that Egbert kid, because I don’t get a good feeling from him,” you say.

“What? Bro. Ew. No. I was just wondering… for science, you know.”

“For science’s sake,” you begin. He looks back to you, giving you his full attention but pretending to be disinterested. “It’s the exact goddamn same as kissing a girl,” you reveal the secrets of kissing a dude.

The waiter comes back just in time to ruin probably the most intimate and open conversation you’ve ever had with your brother. He’s bearing sushi. He sets Dave’s sashimi down in front of him, earning a look of mild disgust, and your roll down in front of you.

“We could always switch. Not too late to back out of getting cultured now,” you offer, knowing full-well that this will just dissuade him from wanting to switch with you even more.

“No fucking way,” he says. “This shit looks so appetizing, you’re just so jealous of this. This pinkish-orange salmon-colored shit up on this plate that I’m about to totally chow down on. Damn, I can’t believe how jealous you are. It’s almost embarrassing.”

“You just used ‘salmon-colored’ to describe literal salmon,” you point out, letting your bro know that his vocabulary needs some work if he wants to do anything related to the rap game.

“Yeah, I’m about to chomp on my salmon-colored salmon off my plate-colored plate on the table-colored table. It’s a fuckin’ party of colors over here, and you’re invited.”

Your brother’s poor attempts to delay the process of trying his first bite of raw fish fail, and you don’t respond to his latest one, just watching him. He gives you a look like you’ve foiled his plans and picks up his chopsticks nimbly, grabbing the sashimi and shoving it into his mouth with only slight trepidation. He chews for a while. He takes another bite, and then he’s stuffing his face with the stuff.

“Consider me fucking cultured,” he says, finishing the last few bites as you start eating.

“How about Indian next time?” you ask. “Trying sushi makes you kinda cultured at best. On a theoretical scale of ‘all immigrants get the hell out of my country’ to ‘fucking cultured,’ you still have a long-ass way to go.”

Dave nods at you once, accepting your challenge. “Next time,” he agrees.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s early the next day when you get the call. You answer on the first ring and instantly regret it. “Jake,” you say. You regret answering like that, too.

“…Dirk,” he says, already put-off by your clingy bullshit. “I wanted to talk about the stuff from a couple days ago, if you would be so inclined.”

“Yeah, when do you have time?”

“Anytime. Could we actually meet at yours?” he asks. “Sorry to burden you,” he adds.

Dave is out with his friends. You’d like to imagine them somewhere eating sushi, your brother showing off his newfound worldliness. “Sure. Come over whenever you want.” You wanted to say ‘Come over soon,’ but decide that sounds too urgent.

“Alright, consider me officially…” You hear the sound of a door closing. “On my way!”

Fuck. You’ve gotta clean up this place. No. Wait, Dave hired a cleaner. It was a whole big thing. Yes, okay. You don’t need to clean up this place. “See you soon,” you say.

“See you in a bit!” he says, hanging up.

You think about other things you could need to do. Cleaning, check. Next up, making sure you have food and drinks. You take a short tour of the kitchen, and you’re reassured by the lack of puppets. They’re all still in the bag in your room—except Cal, of course. You just couldn’t be bothered to get the others out of the bag last night between your heart to heart with your bro and your incessant thoughts and plans regarding Jake. There’s one sword in the refrigerator, but that one’s always in there. There’s food abounding in the kitchen. Next, the bathroom. There’s toilet paper. Then, the living room. Cal’s on the couch. That’s fine. Why is this starting to feel more like preparing for a visit from CPS than your secret boyfriend? You give the apartment one more once-over using your normal-people-vision, and it seems relatively unremarkable. Amazing what you not being there for almost a month and a cleaning service can do for a place.

You check yourself in a nearby mirror. Hair, gravity-defying. Shades, on. Clothes, a muscle tee and black pants. Everything checks out, and you take a moment to relax before Jake arrives. You flop down on the couch next to Cal, and looking into his glassy eyes, you feel his dejection at not having been talked to or played with nearly enough for the last few weeks.

Before you can go through with your plan of throwing him in the air a few times to lift his spirits like you had with Dave when he was a baby, the front door opens. It can’t be Jake because not nearly enough time has passed unless he was coming by car. And he doesn’t have a car. Also, he doesn’t have a key to your place.

Dave and his friends walk into the living room, atmosphere lively and humorous. Shit. They all stop in their tracks when they see you, except Dave, who just keeps casually walking to his room. He glances back at them when they stop. John looks pleased, Jade intrigued, and Rose just gives you a polite little wave.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s my bro.”

You wave Cal’s arm at them, making Dave irritated. Jade looks gleeful, but Cal seems to have the opposite effect on John. You’re really starting to like John less and less. Dave drags his friends into his room and shuts the door behind them. You can hear their muffled voices as they talk about you. You think you hear the word ‘cool’ coming from your brother unironically, and you’re thoroughly confused.

You quickly take out your phone and call Jake to report the change of people-to-rooms ratio in your apartment. He doesn’t answer. Typical. You decide to wait in the hallway at the top of the elevator for him in case the fact that your little brother and his friends are in the house changes the plans of where you want to have your pow-wow. 

After a few minutes of simultaneously glancing at your phone every three seconds and leaning nonchalantly against your doorframe in the hallway, the elevator dings softly as the double doors slide open to reveal a less-than-confident looking Jake English.

His eyes get wide when he sees you in the hallway, and he turns the confidence up several notches as he walks up to you. “Any particular reason why you’re waiting in the hallway?” he asks.

“Waiting to open the door for you,” you say, very much not in the act of opening the door.

“You kind of suck at this job,” says Jake.

“Actually, change of plan,” you say. “My brother invited his friends over, and they’re all gossiping in his room. I tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up.”

Jake glances at his phone, briefly irritated with himself. “Oh, poppycock,” he says. “This old thing!” He shakes his phone in an over exaggerated gesture. “…Well, we can’t very well go back to mine now that I’m already here. And because, uh… Actually, yes, because I’m already here.”

“I guess not…” you say, moderately suspiciously. “Would you really prefer to stay here?”

“Maybe we can go to your room?” he asks.

“Well, Mr. English, if you insist,” you say, opening the door to your apartment and walking in first, leading the way to your room. When you look back, Jake looks flustered with you already (shit), but his expression changes when he sees your living room.

“Well, bravo,” he says, amazed by the lack of dangerous weapons and general cleanliness. “This place is stunningly spotless!”

“My little bro hired a cleaner for some reason,” you say, shrugging and opening the door to your room. You sit on your bed first, curious if Jake will choose to sit with you on the bed or in the chair at your desk.

You feel your heart beat faster as he closes the door to your room behind him. Slight worry passes over his face before he decides to sit next to you on the bed, but not so close that you’re touching.

“So,” you say. “Do anything interesting recently?” You can’t get your mind off the person he was texting yesterday and your curiosity over what he did after Jane left.

“You mean yesterday?” he asks. It is the only day you haven’t seen each other in at least a month, since you started dating and staying at his house.

“Yeah,” you say.

“…As a matter of fact, I did,” he says. But he stops there. You obviously need more details. “What about you, Dirk?”

“I went out to eat with Dave,” you say. “He wanted to try sushi to get cultured or something ridiculous like that.” You don’t ask what he did, trying to seem less desperate to know than you really are.

“That sounds positively sublime!” he says, smiling at you weakly. Not too deep under the smile is a layer of worry.

You pause, waiting for him to crack and tell you what he did yesterday. You want to ask again, but you deny yourself the pleasure of an easy resolution, instead opting for the tedious task of having Jake figure it out. However, by the worry on his face, it looks like he already knows, but doesn’t want to tell you.

“Fine,” he says, cracking under the pressure of your silence in record time. “I met an old chum yesterday.”

“Alright,” you say.

Jake looks over at you curiously. “You’re not going to ask anything further?”

“Nope.”

“…You’re not at all curious as to who I met or what scandalous activities we got up to?”

You’re hemorrhaging curiosity, but you’re really trying to get over your needy over-attached bullshit. At least parts of it visible to Jake. If you act more detached, maybe he won’t need to take a break from you again. This plan is far too simple, but you figure you’ll give it a go. “Nah,” you say.

Jake looks a little hurt by your lack of interest in his life. Fuck. You’ve taken the detachment too far. You need to find some kind of middle ground between detached and clingy, quick. “But tell me about it anyway,” you say. 

Jake looks a little relieved that you want to know, but then worried again because he remembers that he hadn’t wanted to tell you in the first place. “Well,” he starts. “It’s a lass I knew back in high school. She found my number, we started texting, and presto! I suppose we’re mates again. We had dinner together in town, and it was an all-around pretty stand-up day!”

“Where did you eat dinner together? And what time was it? Also, what was she wearing?” Shit. You’re pretty sure you’re sending mixed signals about your level of interest at this point.

“We ate at that Italian place at six, and she was wearing… I don’t know, a dress, I guess? Why does it matter?”

“Is she an ex?”

Jake’s mouth opens and then closes. “How did you…”

“You went out to eat Italian for dinner and decided to meet in a hasty fuckin’ manner after only texting for a little while, she was wearing a dress that you pretended not to notice, and you knew each other in high school—from what I hear, your romantic peak.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my romantic peak… I’m still a virile young man with tons of dating potential! Just look at the way I’ve managed to sweep you off your feet!” He looks a little proud of himself at this one.

“Yeah, Jake, I was wrong. Now must be your romantic peak. Dating me secretly behind all of your friends’ backs, kicking me out of your house when you need some space, and going out with your ex on the side. What a gentleman full of poise and grace.”

His expression drops, actually hurt and a little offended. “For one, you kicked yourself out. Secondly, it was just an impromptu rendezvous… Wait,” he says, noticing something in your rather aggressive answer. “Are you, by any chance, jealous? I could never in a gazillion years believe that...”

This is turning into the Neytiri situation all over again. Except this time, there aren’t any helpless remotes lying around for you to toss out the window. Even if you could find a remote good for throwing, it would probably kill someone fifteen stories below. But this time feels different. It’s not a lighthearted or funny moment. It’s an infuriating one. You feel like the impulsive part of your brain is growing from spending too much time with Jake. Or maybe living with him for a month, eating, sleeping, breathing Jake has made you too comfortable with him; comfortable enough to share how you’re feeling, how you’ve been feeling for a little while now. You really shouldn’t, but you do. And it comes out in a neat little passive aggressive mess.

“Yes, Einstein. You solved the big mystery. I actually like you, and I’m annoyed that you went out on a dinner date with your ex. I’m a fucking human being with feelings. Congratulations. You get a Nobel prize for your discovery. Not like I try to make it obvious everyday that I like you and use more effort than I probably should to try to convince you to like me, too or anything.”

You look at Jake—you don’t know when you looked away from him—to see that his eyes look misty as hell. Shit. Jake is one of the only people in your life that you hadn’t yet hurt deeply. Because of his shielding constant layer of positivity and his free spirit, you weren’t even sure if you were capable of hurting him deeply, and maybe that’s one reason why you fell for him to begin with. Your anger vanishes and feels misplaced; the ‘cool and aloof guy’ image is something that you’d constructed and lived in for yourself. Who are you to blame him for being the lovable gullible guy he is and falling for it?

Jake puts his hand on yours, smiling a little melancholy smile. “I suppose I was being quite the jackass,” he says. “…I know that you’ve been open with me, and I really do appreciate the trust you put in me. My perception of you is changing and growing daily, but I think I still have a bit to learn. I’m sorry…”

“You were being a jackass,” you say. “But I was, too.” A moment passes. This line of conversation is too much right now. You want an out. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he says. You grab the hand he’d put on top of yours.

“Why do you like me?” you ask. It’s the third time you’ve asked, and maybe it’ll be the first time he answers.

His usual exasperation in regards to this question is nonexistent, and he shrugs. “Strider charm?”

“No, really.”

He answers with little hesitation. “Really, I think you’re a genuine person. I mean, under the layers of irony that I can’t understand, you really care about me. You try to be honest with me, even if you give me the old runaround sometimes. You make me laugh, and I’m proud of having made you laugh once or twice as well. You’re good at almost everything you try, and you force me to challenge myself. I enjoy spending time with you and talking to you, and you’re someone I can picture myself going on adventures with.”

This might be one of the most succinct things you’ve ever heard Jake say, and you wonder briefly if he’s actually thought about it since the first or second time you’ve asked.

“Also, I’m hot,” you add, equally as succinctly.

“Also, you’re very attractive, yes.”

The two of you let out a deep breath from the emotional release of your conversation, still connected at the hand. “And you’re not in love with your ex?” you ask cautiously.

“No, I’m not in love with my ex. I’m not even in like with my ex,” Jake explains. “I just felt like I’d been living in this world where the three of you guys were the only other players, and I wanted to expand my horizons a bit. For strictly non-dating-related purposes. That position is currently filled by you.”

“You bet it is,” you say. “Don’t think that I won’t threaten anyone who comes on to you. I have a sword.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” says Jake. Maybe he does like the clingy shit after all. It’s almost kind of narcissistic to like you clinging on to him like this. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know the full extent of it yet, and hopefully he won’t have to find out.

There’s a knock at the door, and Dave pokes his head in. You’re surprised when Jake doesn’t remove his hand from yours, as he’s usually the one sensitive to keeping your relationship a secret. Dave glances at your hands and the two of you, but doesn’t comment. “Hey,” says your brother. “Your friends are here. The other ones. At the door. Should I let ‘em in?”

You curiously glance at Jake, who grins at you. As you walk into the living room, Dave disappears back into his room to join his friends, and you’re unsurprised to see that your friends have let themselves in. Jane is bearing a large cake, and Roxy has what looks like sparkling juice. They’re setting up some paper plates and cups on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You look at the date on your phone quickly. Fuck. It’s Jake’s birthday. You’d completely blown up at Jake, given him a verbal lashing on his birthday. Worse still, you hadn’t even remembered that it was his birthday to begin with. That being said, you hadn’t really noticed the days passing and slipping into December; you’d been a little distracted this past few weeks, ironically, with Jake. This is completely unlike you. You’d planned his present and this day as soon as you learned his birthday, but then you forgot on the actual day? Jesus. You’re the worst boyfriend ever. The worst human ever, probably.

Roxy and Jane see that the two of you have entered the room, and Roxy starts clapping. “Jakey!!” she calls out, even though he’s two feet away. “Happy b-day, you!”

“Happy birthday, Jake,” says Jane, smiling and pushing her hair out of her eyes to make herself look presentable. She smooths her skirt and finishes setting up the cake and artfully splaying other assorted birthday supplies on the coffee table.

Roxy walks behind Jake, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him further into the living room. You realize that you’re still holding hands and let go quickly. Jake grabs your hand again as soon as you let it go and pulls you along as he’s led by Roxy toward the cake, grinning all the while. You all take your places around the coffee table, sitting on the floor. Jake hasn’t let go of your hand, which is now under the table and resting on his leg like a content lap dog.

“We gotta sing the song! Even though I don’t like it, it’s a tradition, right?” says Roxy, starting clapping the rhythm as Jane lights the candles. You try to stand up to turn off the lights, but Jake just grabs your hand more tightly, forcing you to remain next to him. This hand-holding business is starting to feel strange, like it has some other purpose. Jane hurries over to flip off the lights after all of the candles are lit, then taking her place at the table again just in time for Roxy to start singing.

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” You join in quietly, Jake now squeezing your hand like he needs moral support. “Happy birthday, dear Jake. Happy birthday to you.”

Jake blows out his candles, and kisses you quickly when the room goes dark in the absence of the candlelight. You’re shocked by his boldness, and when the lights come back on, your face must show it because Roxy is laughing at you.

“What’s up, Dirk?” she asks, laughter eventually fading as she turns her attention back to Jake. “Also, Jake, what’s your birthday wish?”

Jane butts in. “Roxy, you can’t tell the wish or it won’t come true. I tell you that every birthday!”

“Shit, yeah. Sorry for almost ruinin’ your wish, Jake!!” says Roxy, looking actually apologetic.

Jake just grins at them, and your hand feels like it’s going numb from the lack of circulation. Jake’s hands are strong, and he just won’t stop _squeezing_. What the hell is up with him.

“It’s not my wish, but I do have an announcement!” he says, and you think you finally know what’s happening. No, Jake. Not now.

Jane and Roxy look at him, faces pleasant as Jane begins to cut the cake with a knife. Roxy gets plates ready.

“Jake,” you say, warning him against whatever batshit idea he has right now. He seems to take your warning as encouragement.

Jane and Roxy start plating the cake, not knowing that Jake is about to make an idiotic move with idiotic timing.

“Ladies,” he begins, face a beacon of positivity. You want to punch it or kiss it to get him to shut up, but you think the latter would be counterproductive to your mission of getting him not to say what he’s about to say. “As you know, the lovely Jane and I broke up quite some time ago and are on fantastic terms now. Isn’t that right, Jane?” he asks, and you realize that this is why he met with Jane alone yesterday. He was judging if they were on good terms or not, because he wanted to suddenly spring this bomb on them.

“Yes,” she says, smiling and handing you a piece of cake. You begrudgingly take it, setting it on the table. You’re anything but hungry in this moment.

“Well,” he continues. “I’m so glad that we’re completely platonic friends with no romantic interest in one another left whatsoever!”

Jane looks a little confused, but puts Jake’s cake on the table in front of him. “I’m glad about that, too,” she says, smile diminished but still visible.

“I guess I’m beating around the bush here,” he says. “Well, I’m absolutely wretched at secret-keeping, and I want everything to be in the open for everyone! I guess, what I’m trying to say is…” He takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand more tightly, suddenly raising your lifeless hand above the table, his powerful one still clasped around it. “Dirk and I are currently seeing each other!”


	13. Chapter 13

“Jake, what the actual fuck,” you say, pulling your hand away from his and withdrawing to your room, shutting the door behind you. You lie facedown on your bed, wanting to think for a little while. You caught a glimpse of Jane’s face before you left the room, and that face is burning in your mind. You hear Jake say, “Excuse me, ladies,” before following you into the room. He closes the door behind him, and you can feel his weight making the foam to your left sink a little as he sits on the bed next to you. 

His voice sounds small. “You’ve mentioned numerous times that you hate the secretive nature of our relationship, and Jane and I have talked about how we’re on good terms now… Did I misinterpret something?”

Lying facedown feels too hot like you can’t breathe, so you turn to your side, facing Jake. He looks surprised to see your face, and from how hot it is, you guess that you’re blushing or some shit. “Do you completely believe everything that Jane tells you?” you ask. “Jake, she’s trying to be nice when she says she doesn’t like you anymore.”

“No, we… We only dated for a very short while, and it’s been months now. We had a very deep chat about it, just the two of us, and she confided in me that she is completely and utterly over me.”

“Did you see her face?”

“Well… Dirk,” he says, lying down next to you to meet your eye level. “You said that you were tired of keeping it a secret, implied that it was my fault that it ended up this way. I was the one who originally proposed the idea of the two of us…keeping it at just the two of us…so I believed that you were right, and that it was my responsibility to tell them. Frankly, you made me feel like shit for not telling them sooner, and now you’re making me feel like shit for telling them, and I’m not sure what you would have liked me to have done.”

Leave it up to Jake English to call you out on your bullshit. He isn’t completely wrong. “The timing just was kind of fucked up… springing it on them like that,” you say.

“Should we have dropped small hints over the course of a year to make them eventually come to the conclusion on their own time when isn’t painful for anyone involved?” he asks, and this is actually a plan you have thought of before.

“Maybe,” you say, knowing that it was not one of your more rational plans.

“Goodness, Dirk, does your stubbornness know no bounds? That’s an insane idea that I was just throwing out there for the sake of making a point! That point being that it was you who urged me to tell them, and I did. Even when I wasn’t comfortable with them knowing, you made me feel like I had to tell them at some point—like it was a huge moral issue for you or some other fucking incomprehensible reason. I’m comfortable with it now, and I told them in my own time… I do apologize for not considering Jane or Roxy and their feelings more in the moment, but I was honestly so excited to be finally comfortable enough in our relationship to tell them about it—to share it with them.”

You listen, taking in all of his points. 

He continues. “And sorry for having a fit geared at you about this. I’m sorry if my timing surprised you, but you’d been talking about telling them for so long that I figured… Anyway, I’m going out to try to smooth things over with Roxy and Jane. If you’d like us to leave your house, I understand, but darn it, I’m going to try to enjoy my birthday party.”

“Stay,” you say. “Don’t take the party elsewhere, I mean. I’ll go back out soon.”

Jake looks resolute. “It’s settled then?” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. A good portion of your embarrassment dissipated upon hearing Jake’s reasoning. His timing was still shit, but you can understand that it was your asshole plans that had bullied him into it in the first place. Your anger isn’t completely gone, but just mostly directed at yourself now. You should have foreseen this. You really expect more of yourself.

He stands up to leave the room, and you grab his hand. He looks back at you, face full of concern that you might be upset again despite him just setting you straight. Straight to the normal conclusion—that you’d fucked up. “I’m excited, too,” you say. “That you were comfortable enough with our relationship to tell them.”

Jake’s expression melts, and he grins at you wholeheartedly. “Come back out soon,” he says before leaving the room, shutting you in by yourself. Through your door, you hear Jake telling Jane and Roxy that you informed him of his bad timing and that he is very sorry if he caused any kind of tension or hurt feelings. The girls briefly ask him to clarify that this whole thing isn’t a joke, admitting their surprise. When Jake tells them they it’s not a joke, Roxy graciously accepts his apology, and Jane a little more hesitantly also accepts.

You listen for a little longer before going back out into the living room and taking a mysteriously unoccupied seat on the couch next to Cal. The coffee table is cleaned off now, and the three of your friends are still seated around it on the floor. Roxy is asking Jake very animated questions about your relationship, and Jane gives you a somewhat frustrated glance over the din of her friends’ conversation. You flash her back an apologetic one, and she sighs mostly in Jake’s direction, shaking her head slowly. You manage to nod once in agreement before Roxy can pull the two of you out of your sign language conversation and into her own boisterous one.

“Earth to Dirk and Janey!” she says, and the two of you join the others in their chat. She seems satisfied with you both now being mentally present. “So,” she says. “Jake and I were discussin’ and we think that me and Jane should be able to ask some questions about your relationship, like, within reason. We don’t want the friend group to be hurt, and we all wanna stay friends and in a healthy relationship and stuff, so if you’re up to it, Dirk. And if you’re up to it, Jane. Maybe we can be kinda open for a bit here.” She leaves this serious topic on the table, usual smile replaced by concern for what this relationship could mean for your group of friends.

You glance to Jane first. Her face is slightly worried about the same issue, but she agrees. “I think that would be for the best, if you’re up for it,” she says. “I won’t interrogate you, but I do have some questions if you’re willing to discuss them.”

All eyes turn to you, and Roxy adds. “If you guys aren’t comfortable telling us something, let us know, and we can, like, strike the intrusive questions from the record or whatever.”

“Yeah, being open sounds good I guess,” you say. You and Jake had been lying by omission to your friends for a while now, and it’s only natural to want things out in the open.

“You’re in charge of telling Jake when to shut up,” says Roxy, and you know the unsaid part of her sentence is ‘if you think he is about to say anything stupid that will hurt Jane.’

Jake looks a little offended at that, but soon Jane is asking the first question.

“Did the two of you start dating when I was already seeing Jake?” she asks, “Not that it matters now anyway, but I was curious,” she adds to make her question seem more nonchalant. Starting with the serious questions already. Shit. 

Jake starts to answer, and you monitor him. This could go very wrong, but you didn’t start dating officially until he broke up with Jane. You don’t expect him to mention anything about your flirting during the time of their dating, but you have all intentions of cutting him off if he starts rambling dangerously close to that topic. “No,” he says. “It was after we broke up.” Short and sweet and true. You’re glad he kept it brief. Jane looks relieved, and Roxy lovingly rubs her back.

Roxy asks a question directed at you. “Dirk, when you were staying at Jake’s for a while there, were you guys like… testing living together or something? Or was that stuff about being kicked out true?”

“My bro really kicked me out, and I just happened to stay with Jake for a while.” Roxy looks relieved with this answer, and you’re not sure if its because living with him in that way would make your relationship more serious or because she’s glad you weren’t lying to her. You’re also not sure how you could even begin to consider living with Jake with Dave involved.

“Was there anything else the two of you were lying to us about in that time?” asks Jane, more curious than upset.

You think back to when you were hiding your relationship, but you can’t really think of any subsequent lies to cover up said relationship.

“I have one minor mistruth that I was guilty over,” says Jake, and you watch him, wondering if he thought of an instance that you didn’t. “When I had those bruises, I said that I fell down the stairs, but they were really gifted to me by Dirk.” Jane looks shocked, and Roxy blushes a little.

“Because the two of us were sparring,” you add, to clear the air. 

“Right, of course,” says Jake, like there was no other possibility to begin with. Roxy looks strangely disappointed, and Jane looks relieved.

After a brief pause, Jake asks, “Any other questions? Our romance is really very dynamic and complex, and I welcome any and all conversation about it!”

“Oh, I got plenty more questions, but I’ll ask you those privately later,” Roxy says, giving him a wink that makes you uncomfortable.

This whole situation was somewhat draining and awkward, but the social climate of your friend group feels a little more balanced now. You’re sure that there are still secrets, because everyone—especially groups of everyones—have secrets, but everything feels that little bit more open now. You feel like there’s nothing that you intentionally need to hide, like you’ve gotten something off your chest. Even though Jake’s timing could have been better, it seems like everything has worked out for now. 

Only time will tell how this will affect the relations between everyone in your group in the long run, but in the moment, things feel…abnormally fine. You can imagine any number of messy situations in which Jane becomes more jealous of you, things get awkward, Roxy is forced to choose a side… or that you and Jake break up, but there’s a certain strange comfort in not knowing those things right now. Usually, you would like to control every aspect of how things work out, but today just being with your friends, having the air cleared, and enjoying cake for Jake’s birthday are enough. Despite the arguments, mixed bag of emotions, and uncertainty of the future, today has been a good day. A productive day.

Jake comes to join you on the couch, his hand squeezing yours with a comfortable gentleness that it had lacked earlier.

You talk about past love interests, traveling, celebrities, and a whole slew of other things before Roxy starts to doze off. She’s always the first one to sleep. Her intermittent snores dot your conversation, and soon everyone is in a lazy stupor. Girls get the bed—of course—leaving Jake and you to the couch and the floor, respectively. Jake tries to take the floor, but you just convince him again that you like sleeping on the floor.

You check in on Dave before sleeping, his friends (they’d been so quiet that you had barely remembered that they were still here) scattered around in various positions on the floor and himself in his bed. You’ll have to talk to him about how inconsiderate of an asshole he’s being in the morning. But for now, you take up your nightly tradition again and kiss his forehead goodnight before heading back out into the living room. Jake is lying on the floor when you return.

“I told you that I’ll sleep on the floor,” you say.

“The little man on the sofa gave me a funny look. Rather, he gave me a look as if to say that he’s superior to me, and I find myself believing it,” he says. “It’s unnerving.”

“Shit, another Cal hater today? Sorry, C-man,” you say, sighing and making a move to sleep on the couch for this one night.

“Could we possibly sleep together on the floor?” asks Jake.

“What if other people wake up before us and walk into the living room to see a sleeping pile of hunks on the floor? Roxy’s little sister and my brother’s friends are in the other room, you know. Their sensitive young minds might be affected by this kind of lewd, raunchy imagery. Forever engrained in their brains. They start craving homoerotic fan fiction, get addicted to pornography, quit their jobs, die destitute and alone. Think of the children, Jake.”

He rolls his eyes at you. He reaches up and grabs your arm tightly, pulling you roughly down to the ground next to him. You don’t try to resist, feeling soft carpet against your side and seeing Jake’s eyes not inches away from yours. He’d taken his glasses off earlier, and his eyes look greener like this, in dim lighting, glassesless, faces close together. He kisses your forehead similarly to the way you kiss Dave’s before sleeping and flashes you a smile before turning away from you. “Goodnight, Dirk,” he says.

You slide yourself closer to him, becoming the big spoon. “Goodnight, Jake,” you say too close to his ear, and he shivers against you from the sensation of your breath. You’re suddenly very aware of his ass against your crotch, and you start to feel—okay, let’s stop this train of thought. Not the time or the place. Jake shimmies back up into you more firmly, and you can feel his spine on your stomach, every breath of his feeling like it’s going through your body.

He breathes in more deeply, holding it at the height of the breath when his body is the closest to yours, and then exhaling. As his body shrinks slightly during the exhale, the small gap between the two of you feels like it’s the length of a football field. You inhale quickly to fill it, the two of you slipping into an opposite pattern of breathing so as to never have any space in between you. After a while, Jake falls out of the rhythm, and his exhales are punctuated by quiet nose snores.

You smile to yourself, kissing the back of his neck and letting yourself fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this last one is pretty short.. sorry! i think this is the ending for now. might come back after a while and add an epilogue or something if this story kind of comes back into the forefront of my mind again, but yeah. for now this is the end! 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it, and sorry that the last chapter took so long to post. i actually had it written for like... well, pretty much since the previous one was posted, actually, but i kept debating about it and thinking about scrapping it and changing it and whatnot. 
> 
> but uh. ended up just posting it i guess b/c i thought it would be better to just post what i had originally written when i was still kind of in the headspace of this fic.
> 
> like i said, i hope you enjoyed! (: thanks so much for reading and leaving all of your kind comments and kudos and being generally really supportive and lovely people.


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